The Black Tulip

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THE BLACK TULIP

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First Issue of this Edition , 1906

Reprinted ... * 1909? 1911, 1915, 1919

EDITOR^S NOTE

“ La Tulipe Noire first appeared in 1850. Dumas
was then nearing the end of his Monte Christo magnifi-
cences, and about to go into a prodigal’s exile at Brussels.
It is said that he was given the story, all brief, by King
William the Third of Holland, whose coronation he did
undoubtedly attend. It is much more probable, nay, it is
fairly certain, that he owed it to his history-provider,
Lacroix.

An historical critic, however, has pointed out that in
his fourth chapter, ^^Les Massacreurs,” Dumas rather
leads his readers to infer that that other William III.,
William of Orange, was the prime mover and moral
agent in the murder of the De Witts. But against this
suggestion, we may quote Macaulay, who wrote: “The
Prince of Orange, who had no share in the guilt of the
murder, but on this occasion as on another lamentable
occasion twenty years later, extended to crimes perpe-
trated in his cause, an indulgence which has left a stain
on his glory.”

Whether Dumas owed it to Lacroix that he made the
stain seem still deeper in his story, it is impossible to say.
Paul Lacroix, alias the ‘‘Bibliophile Jacob,” though not
an artistic assistant like Maguet, supplied Dumas with
historical colours and eflects.

“ I used,” he wrote, “to dress his characters for him,
and locate them in the necessary surroundings, whether in
Old Paris or in different parts of France at different
periods. When he was, as often, in difficulties on some
matter of archaeology, he used to send round one of his
secretaries to me to demand, say, an accurate account of
the appearance of the Louvre in the year 1600. ... I
used to revise his proofs, make corrections in historica!
points, and sometimes write whole chapters.” See Mr.

viii Editor’s Note

Arthur F. Davidson^s admirable volume upon Dumas
his life and works, published in 1902.

It oug-ht to be added that the Black Tulip, invented by
Dumas, has now been made a quotation in the current
catalogue of Dutch bulbs, and a root can be purchased for
a shilling*.

The following is the list of Dumas’ books —

Poetry and Plays,— sur la Mort du G^n^ral Foy, 1825 ; La
Cbasse et TAmour (in collaboration), 1825; Canaris (Drhyramb),
1826 ; La Nocc et I’Enterrement (in collaboration), 1826 ; Christine
(or Stockholm, Fontainebleau et Rome>, 1828 ; Henri HI. et sa
Cour, 1829 ; Antony, 1831 ; Napoleon Bonaparte, ou Trente Ans
de PHistoire de France, 1831 ; Charles VII. chez ses grands
vassaux, 1831 ; Richard Darlington, 1831 ; T^r^sa, 1832 ; Lc Mari
de la Veuve (in collaboration), 1832 ; Ia Tour de Nesle, 1832 ;
AngHe (in collaboration), 1833 ; Cathenne Howard, 1834 ; Don
Juan de Marana, ou la Chute d’un Ange, 1836; Kean, 1836;
Piquillo, comic opera (in collaboration), 1837; Caligula, 1837;
Paul Jones, 1838; Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle, 1839; I’Alchimiste,
1839 ; Bathilde (m collaboration), 1839 ; Un Manage sous Louis
XV. (in collaboration), 1841 ; Lorennno (in collaboration), 1842 ;
Halifax, 1842; Les Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr (in collaboration),
1843 ; Louise Bernard (in collaboration), 1843 ; Le Laird de
Dumbicky (in collaboration), 1843 ; Le Garde Forestier (in collabor-
ation), 1845; L’Oreste, 18565 Le Verrou de la Reine, 18565 Le
Meneur des Loups, 18575 Collective Eds., *‘Th^itre,” 1834-36, 6
vols., 1863-74, 15 vols. Dumas also dramatised many of his
novels.

Tales and Novels ^ Travels, — ^Nouvelles Contemporaines, 1826 ;
Impressions de Voyage, 1833 ; Souvenirs d^Antony (tales), 1835 ;
La Salle d’Armes (tales), 18385 Le Capitairie Paul, 18385 Act6,
Monseigneur Gaston de Phebus, 1839; Quinze Jours au Sinai,
18395 Aventures de John Davy, 18405 Le Capitaine Pamphile,
18405 Mattre Adam le Calabrais, 18405 Othon TArcher, 18405
Une Ann^e k Florence, 1840; Praxide; Don Martin de Freytis;
Pierre le Cruel, 1841 5 Excursions sur les bords du Rhin, 184X ;
Nouvelles Impressions de Voyage, 1841 5 Le Speronare (travels),

1842 5 Aventures de Lyderic, 1842 5 Georges 5 Ascanio ; ^ Le
Chevalier d’Harmental, 18435 Le Corricolo5 La Villa Palmieri,

1843 J Gabriel Lambert 5 Chlteau d’Eppstein 5 C^cile 5 Sylvandire 5
Les Trois Mousquetaires 5 Amaury; Fernande, 1844; Le Comte
de Monte-Cristo, 1844-5 5 Vingt Ans apres, 1845 > Des Fr^rcs
Corses 5 Une Fille du Regent 5 La Reine Margot, 1845 ; La Guerre
des Femmes, 1845-6. Le Chevalier de Maison-Rouge, 1846.
La Dame de Monsoreau, 1846. Le B^tard de Maul^on, 1846.
M^moires d’un M^decin, 184(^8. Les Quaranteemq, 1848. Dix
Ans plus tard, ou le Vicomte de Bragelonne, 1848-50. De Paris

IX

Editor’s Note

k Cadix, 1848. Tanger, Alger, et Tunis, 1848. Les Milles et un
Fantdmes, 1849. La Tulipe Noire, 1S50. La Femme au Collier
de Velours, 1851. Olympe de Cloves, 1852. Un Gil Bias en
Californie, 1852, Isaac Taquedem, 1852. La Comtesse de Chamy,
1853-5. Ange Pitou, le Pasteur d’Ashboum ; El Sat^ador ; Con-
science I’Innocent, 1853. Catherine Blum ; Ingenue, 1854. I^s
Mohicans de Paris, 1854-8. Salvator, 1855-9 (the two last with
Paul Bocage). L’ Arabic Heureuse, 1855. Les Compagnons de
J^hu, 1857. Les Louves de Machecoul, 1859. Le Caucase, 1859.
De Pans a Astrakan, i860.

Works . — Souvenirs de 1830-42, 1854. M6moires, 1852-4.
Causeries, i860. Bric-a-brac, 1861. Histoire de mes B6tes, 1868.
Memoirs of Garibaldi, Reminiscences of various writers, historical
compilations, etc.; Children’s Tales; Histoire d’un Casse-Noisette>
La Bouillie de la Comtesse Berthe, Le Pcre Gigogne*

1906.

Contents

xii

CHAF. PAGE

XXI. THE SECOND BULB l6l

XXII. THE BLOOMING OF THE FLOWER . .169

XXIIL THE ENVIOUS MAN . . . . I76

XXIV, IN WHICH THE BLACK TULIP CHANGES

MASTERS 183

XXV. PRESIDENT VAN SYSTENS . . *187

XXVI. A MEMBER OF THE HORTICULTURAL

SOCIETY 195

XXVII. THE THIRD BULB . . . ^ . . 204

XXVIII. THE SONG OF THE FLOWERS . . . 212

XXIX. IN WHICH VAN BAERLE, BEFORE LEAVING
LCEWESTEIN, SETTLES ACCOUNTS WITH

GRYPHUS 220

XXX. WHEREIN THE READER BEGINS TO HAVE
AN INKLING OF THE KIND OF PUNISH-
MENT THAT WAS AWAITING CORNELIUS

VAN BAERLE 227

XXXI. HARLEM 23 1

XXXII. A LAST REQUEST 238

XXXIII. CONCLUSION 243

THE BLACK TULIP

CHAPTER I

A GRATEFUL PEOPLE

On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of the Hague,
whose streets were ordinarily so neat and trim, and
withal so tranquil that every day seemed like Sunday ;
the city of the Hague, with its shady park, its noble
trees reaching out over the roofs of the Gothic dwell-
ing, and its broad canals so calm and smooth that
they resembled mammoth mirrors, wherein were
reflected its myriad of church-towers, whose graceful
shapes recalled some city of the Orient, — the city of
the Hague, the capital of the Seven United Provinces,
saw all its arteries swollen to bursting with a black
and red flood of impetuous, breathless, eager citizens,
who with knives in their belts, muskets on their
shoulders, or clubs in their hands, were hurrying on
toward the Buytenhof, a redoubtable prison, whose
grated windows still frown on the beholder, where
Cornelius de Witt, brother of the former Grand Pen-
sionary of Holland, was languishing in confinement,
on a charge of attempted murder preferred against
him by the surgeon Tyckelaer.

If the history of that time — and especially of the
year in the middle of which our narrative commences
— were not indissolubly connected with the two names
just mentioned, the few explanatory pages which
follow might appear quite supererogatory; but we
must first warn our old friend, the indulgent reader,
whom it is our invariable custom on the first page to
promise to entertain, and to whom we do our best to
redeem our promise in the subsequent pages, that
this explanation is as indispensable to the right under-

B

2

The Black Tulip

Standing of our tale as to that of the great even
itself on which it is based.

Cornelius de Witt, Ruart de Pulten, — that is to say
Inspector of Dikes, — ex-burgomaster of Dort, hi
native town, and member of the Assembly of th
States of Holland, was forty-nine years of age whei
the Dutch people, weary of the Republic as it wa
administered by John de Witt, the Grand Pensionar
of Holland, suddenly conceived a most violent affec
tion for the Stadtholderate, which had been abolishe<
for ever in Holland by the Perpetual Edict forced b;
John de Witt upon the United Provinces.

In accordance with the common experience tha
public opinion in its capricious flights seeks always t<
identify a principle with some man whose name ij
connected with its promulgation, the people saw th(
personification of the Republic in the stern feature!
of the brothers De Witt (those Romans of Holland)
who disdained to pander to the whims of the mob
but were the unyielding upholders of liberty withou
licence and prosperity without extravagance; whil<
on the other hand the thought of the Stadtholderate
recalled to the popular mind the stooping head anc
the grave and thoughtful lineaments of young Williarr
of Orange, whom his contemporaries christened the
“ Taciturn,” — a name which has come down to oui
own day.

The brothers De Witt were very gentle in theli
treatment of Louis XIV., whose moral influence
throughout Europe they perceived to be steadilj
increasing, and whose material supremacy over Hol-
land they had been made to feel in that marvellous
campaign of the Rhine, made famous by the exploits
of that hero of romance, the Comte de Guiche, and
celebrated in song by Boileau, — a campaign which
had laid the power of the United Provinces prostrate
in three short months.

Louis XIV. had long been the enemy of the Dutch,
who insulted or ridiculed him to their heart’s content,
although it must be said that they generally vented
thier spleen through the medium of French refugees.

A Grateful People 3

Their national pride held him up as the_ Mithridates
of the Republic. The brothers De Witt therefore
had to contend against active opposition, arising in
the first place from the fact that a vigorous resistance
had been conducted by them against the inclination
of the nation, and, furthermore, from that feeling of
weariness which is natural to all vanquished people,
who hope that a new leader may be able to save them
from ruin and shame.

This new leader — quite ready to appear on the
political stage and to measure himself against Louis
XIV., however towering the destiny of the Grand
Monarque might seem to be — ^was William, Prince
of Orange, son of William IL, and grandson, by his
mother Henrietta Stuart, of Charles 1 . of England, —
the taciturn youth whom we have referred to as the
person to whom the popular mind at once reverted
when the Stadtholderate was mentioned.

This young man was in 1672 twenty-two years of
age. John de Witt, who was his tutor, had brought
him up with the view of making this youth of royal
lineage a good citizen of the Republic. Loving his
country better than he did his pupil, the master had
by the Perpetual Edict extinguished the hope which
the young Prince might have entertained of one day
becoming Stadtholder. But God laughs at the pre-
sumption of man, who assumes to make and unmake
earthly sovereigns without consulting the King of
Heaven. Through the capricious humour of the
Dutch and the terror inspired by Louis XIV., He
overturned the policy of the Grand Pensionap^, and
repealed the Perpetual Edict by re-establishing the
office of Stadtholder in favour of William of Orange,
for whom He had decreed a lofty destiny still buried
in the mysterious depths of the future.

The Grand Pensionary bowed before the will of his
fellow-citizens. Cornelius de Witt, however, was
more obstinate ; and notwithstanding all the threats
of death from the Orangist rabble, who besieged him
in his house at Dort, he stoutly refused to sign the
act by which the office of Stadtholder was restored^

4 The Black Tulip

Moved by the tears and entreaties of his wife, he at
last complied, but affixed to his sig-nature the two
letters V* C, which signified vi coactus, or ‘‘done
under duress*”

It was only by a miracle that he escaped alive from
the hands of his foes on that occasion.

John de Witt derived no advantage from his ready
compliance with the wishes of his fellow-citizens.
Only a few days later an attempt was made to murder
him, in which he was severely although not mortally
wounded.

This by no^ means accorded with the necessities of
the Orange faction. The two brothers so long as
they lived were a constant obstacle to its plans ; never-
theless, the Orangists changed their tactics for the
moment (leaving themselves free at any time to revert
to their first method), and undertook with the aid of
slander and calumny to effect the purpose which they
had not been able to effect by the aid of the poniard.

It is seldom ordained by the will of God that a great
man shall be at hand at the right moment to carry a
great work to a successful conclusion ; and for that
reason, when such a providential concurrence of cir-
cumstances does occur, history is prompt to record
the name of the fortunate individual, and to hold him
up to the admiration of posterity.

But when Satan interposes in human affairs to cast
a blight upon some happy existence, or to overthrow
a kingdom, it as seldom happens that he does not find
at his side some wretched tool, in whose ear he has
but to whisper a word to set him at once about his
task.

The wretched tool who was at hand to be the agent
of this dastardly plot was one Tyckelaer, whom we
have already mentioned, — a surgeon by profession.

He lodged an information to the effect that Corne-
lius de Witt, rendered desperate by the repeal of the
Perpetual Edict (as he had proved by the letters
affixed to his signature thereto), and inflamed with
hatred for William of Orange, had hired an assassin
to deliver the Republic from its new Stadtholder, and

A Grateful People 5

that he, Tyckelaer, was the person thus chosen ; but
that stung with remorse for having for one moment
admitted the idea of the deed which he was asked to
perpetrate, he had preferred rather to reveal the crime
than to commit it.

This disclosure was, indeed, well calculated to call
forth a furious outbreak among the Orange faction.
The Procureur-Fiscal caused the arrest of Cornelius
at his own house on the i6th of Augr.st, ifjya; and
the Ruart de Pulten, noble John de W itt’s noble
brother, was forced to undergo, in one of the rooms
in the Buytenhof, the preliminary torture by means of
which they hoped to extort from him, as from the
vilest criminals, a confession of his alleged plot
against William of Orange.

But Cornelius was possessed not only of a great
mind, but also of a great heart. He belonged to that
race of martyrs who, being as constant in their
political faith as their ancestors were in their religious
belief, are enabled to meet suffering with a smiling
face ; and while he was stretched on the rack, he
recited with a firm voice, and scanning the lines
according to measure, the first strophe of the “ Justum
ac tenacem ’’ of Horace. He made no confession,
and at last tired out the fanaticism, as well as the
strength, of his persecutors.

The judges, nevertheless, completely exonerated
Tyckelaer ; while they sentenced Cornelius to be
deposed from all his offices and dignities, to pay all
the costs of the trial, and to be banished from the soil
of the Republic for ever.

The insane passions of the people, to whose best
interests Cornelius de Witt had ever been conscienti-
ously devoted, v/ere to some extent appeased by this
judgment against one who was an entirely inpocent
as well as a great man ; but, as we shall see, it failed
to content them.

The Athenians, who have left behind them a pretty
tolerable reputation for ingratitude, must in this
respect yield precedence to the Dutch. They con-
tented themselves with banishing Aristides.

6

The Black Tulip

John de Witt, at the first intimation of the charge
brought against his brother, had resigned his office
of Grand Pensionary. He, too, received a noble
recompense for his devotion to his country, taking
with him into the retirement of private life his burden
of anxiety and his scarcely-healed scars, which are
only too often the sole guerdon obtained by honour-
able men who are guilty of having laboured for their
country, forgetful of their own interests.

Meanwhile, \\’iilia.n of Orange urged on the course
of events by every means in his power, eagerly wait-
ing for the time when the people, by whom he was
idolized, should have made of the bodies of the
brothers the two steps up which he might ascend to
the chair of Stadtholder.

Thus it was that on the aoth of August, 1672, as
we have already stated in .the beginning of this
chapter, the whole town was crowding toward the
Buytenhof, to witness the departure of Cornelius de
Witt from prison on his way to lifelong banishment,
and to see what traces the torture had left on the noble
frame of the man who knew his Horace so welL

Let us hasten to add that this vast multitude,
"which was hurrying on toward the Buytenhof, was
not influenced solely by the harmless desire of feast-
ing their eyes with the spectacle; there were many
who went there to play an active part in it, and to
take upon themselves an office which they conceived
had been badly filled, — ^that of the executioner.

There were, indeed, others with less hostile inten-
tions. All that they cared for was the spectacle,
always so attractive to the mob, whose instinctive
pride is gratified to see him who has long occupied a
lofty position prostrate in the dust.

“ This Cornelius de Witt,'* they were saying, “ this
knight without fear, has he not been closely confined,
and his courage shattered by the rack? Shall we not
see him pale, streaming with blood, covered with
shame?” Surely this was a sweet triumph for the
bourgeoisie, who were even more consumed with
envy than the common people, — a. triumph in which

A Grateful People 7

every honest burgher of the Hague might well
share.

‘ ‘ Moreover, ’ ’ hinted the Orange agitators inter-
spersed. through the crowd, whom they hoped to
mould to their own purposes, and to use either as an
instrument of attack or of menace, — ‘‘ moreover, will
there not be a fine opportunity all the way from the
Buytenhof to the city gate to throw some handfuls of
dirt or a few stones at this Ruart de Pulten, who not
only conferred the dignity of Stadtholder on the
Prince of Orange * under duress,’ as he claims, but
who also intended to have him assassinated?”

‘‘ Besides which,” the fierce enemies of France
chimed in, if the work were done well and bravely
at the Hague, Cornelius would certainly not be allowed
to go into exile, where he will renew his intrigues
with France, and live with his infernal scoundrel of
a brother, John, on the gold of the Marquis de
Louvois.”

In such a temper, people generally will run rather
than walk, — ^which was the reason why the inhabit-
ants of the Hague were hurrying so fast toward the
Buytenhof.

Honest Tyckelaer, with a heart full of spite and
malice, and with no particular plan settled in his mind,
was one of th^ foremost, being put forward by the
Orange party as a very model of probity, national
honour, and Christian charity.

This daring miscreant, embellishing his narrative
with all the exaggerated rhetoric which his mind or
his fertile imagination could supply, detailed the
attempts which Cornelius de Witt had made to
corrupt him, the sums of money which were
promised, and the diabolical plans, which were all
laid beforehand, to smooth away whatever difficulties
might arise to obstruct his (Tyckelaer ’s) committing
the murder.

Every phrase of his speech, eagerly listened to by
the populace, called forth enthusiastic cheers for the
Prince of Orange and yells of blind fury against the
brothers De Witt.

8 The Black Tulip

The mob even fell to cursing* the iniquitous judg-es
who had allowed such a detestable criminal as the
villain Cornelius to g'et off so cheaply.

Some of the agitators whispered, He will be off;
he will escape from us

Others replied, ‘"A vessel is waiting for him at
Schevening, — a French craft. Tyckelaer has seen her. ’ '

“Honest Tyckelaer I Hurrah for Tyckelaer!”
the mob cried in chorus.

“And let us not forget,” a voice exclaimed from
the crowd, “ that meanwhile John, who is as unmiti-
gated a scoundrel as his brother, will also escape,”

“ And the two rogues will make merry in France
with our money, — with the money for our vessels,
our arsenals, and our dockyards, which they have
sold to Louis XIV.”

“Well, then, let us not allow them to depart!”
shouted one patriot, whose ideas had advanced farther
than those of the others.

“Forward to the prison, to the prison I” echoed
the crowd.

Amid such cries, the citizens ran along faster and
faster, while muskets were brandishing, axes gleam-
ing, and eyes shooting fire and flame.

No violence, however, had as yet been committed ;
and the file of horsemen who were guarding the
approaches of the Buytenhof remained cool, unmoved,
silent, much more formidable in their impassibility
than this excited, yelling, threatening crowd of
burghers. Motionless they sat, under the eye of their
leader, the captain of the cavalry of the Hague, who
had his sword drawn, but held it with its point down-
ward, in a line with the straps of his stirrup.

This troop, the only defence of the prison, overawed
by its firm attitude not only the disorderly, riotous
mass of the populace, but also the detachment of the
burgher-guard, which, being placed opposite the
Buytenhof to support the soldiers in keeping order,
gave countenance to the seditious uproar of the rioters
by themselves shouting, —

“ Hurrah for Orange ! Down with the traitors

A Grateful People 9

The presence of Tilly and his horsemen, indeed,
exercised a salutary check on these civic warriors;
but soon they worked themselves into a fine passion
by their own yelling, and as they could not compre-
hend how any one could be endowed with physical
courage and not manifest it by shouting at the top of
his voice, they attributed the silence of the dragoons to
cowardice, and advanced one step toward the prison,
with all the turbulent mob following in their wake.

Thereupon Count Tilly rode forward alone to meet
them, raising his sword slightly, as he demanded with
a frown, —

‘‘Well, gentlemen of the burgher-guard, why are
you in motion, and what do you wish?’’

The burghers brandished their muskets, repeating
their cry, —

“ Hurrah for Orange ! Death to the traitors !”

“ ‘ Hurrah for Orange!* be it so,” replied Tilly,

‘ ‘ although I certainly am more partial to happy faces
than to gloomy ones. ‘ Death to the traitors ! ’ if you
:hoose, so long as you confine your energy to shouting
t. Shout ‘Death to the traitors!’ to your heart’s
content; but as to putting them to death in good
earnest, I am here to prevent that, and I shall prevent
t.”

Then, turning round to his men, he gave the word
)f command, —

“Ready!”

The troopers obeyed orders with a precision which
mmediately caused the biir^hcr-guard and the people
o fall back in such haste and confusion as to excite
he laughter of the cavalry-officer.

“ There, there !” he exclaimed with that bantering
one which is peculiar to men of his profession, “ be
asy, my good fellows, my soldiers will not fire a
hot ; but, on the other hand, you must not advance
ne step toward the prison.”

“ And do you know, sir, that we have muskets?”
oared the commandant of the burghers.

“ By Jove, I can’t very well help knowing it,” said
'illy, “ after the way you have been waving them

10 The Black Tulip

before my eyes ; but I beg you to observe also thaf
we have pistols, that the pistol carries admirably to a
distance of fifty yards, and that you are only twenty-
five from us/’

“Death to the traitors!” cried the exasperated
* • ehc, s.

“ Bail 1” growled the officer, “ you keep saying the
same thing over and over again. It is very tire-
some.”

With this he fesumed his post at the head of his
troops, while the tumult grew fiercer and fiercer about
the Buytenhof.

And yet the furious mob did not know that at the
very moment when they were hot upon the scent of
one of their victims, the other, as if hurrying to meet
his fate, passed at a distance of not more than a
hundred yards behind the groups of people and the
dragoons on his way to the Buytenhof.

John de Witt had alighted from his coach with a
servant, and was walking quietly across the courtyard
of the prison.

Mentioning his name to the turnkey, who, however,
knew him, he said, —

‘ * Good-morning, Gryphus ; I have come to get my
brother, Cornelius de Witt (who as you know is sen-
tenced to perpetual banishment), and take him away
from the city with me.”

Thereupon the jailer, a sort of bear, trained to lock
and unlock the gates of the prison, saluted him, and
admitted him into the building, the doors of which
were immediately closed upon him.

Ten yards farther on, John de Witt met a lovely
young girl of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in
the national costume of the Frisian women, who
coiirtesied prettily to him. Patting her cheek gently,
he said to her, —

^ ‘ Good-morning, my pretty little Rosa ; how is my
brother?”

“ Oh, Mynheer John !” the young girl replied, “ I
am not afraid of the harm which has been done to
him. That’s all over now/’

II

The Two Brothers

Pray, what are you afraid of then, my dear?^’

“ I am afraid of the harm which they are going to
do to hkn/^

Oh, yes,” said De Witt, “ you mean this rabble,
don’t you?”

Do you hear them?”

“ Yes, they are indeed in a state of great excite-
ment ; but when they see us, perhaps they will grow
calmer, as we have never done them anything but
good.”

Unfortunately, that is no reason at all,” muttered
the girl, as in obedience to an imperative sign from
her father, she withdrew.

Indeed, child, what you say is only too true.”
Then, as he pursued his way, he said to himself, —

Here is a damsel who very likely does not know
how to read, and who, consequently, has never read
anything ; and yet with one word she has epitomized
a good part of the history of the world. ’ ’

And with the same calm mien, but more melancholy
than he had been on entering the prison, the Grand
Pensionary proceeded toward the cell of his brother.

CHAPTER II

THE TWO BROTHERS

The fair Rosa’s gloomy forebodings were fully
realized; for while John de Witt was climbing the
narrow winding stairs which led to the prison of his
brother Cornelius, the burghers did their best to have
the troop of Tilly, which was in their way, removed.

^ Whereupon the rabble, in token of their apprecia-
tion of the good intentions of their militia-men,
shouted lustily, “ Hurrah for the burghers !”

Count Tilly, who was as prudent as he was firm,
began to parley with the burghers, under the protec-

12 The Black Tulip

tion of the cocked pistols of his dragfoons, doing his
best to explain to them that his order from the_ States
commanded him to guard the prison and its ap-
proaches with three companies.

“ Why give such orders? Why guard the prison?’’
cried the Orangists.

Ah !” replied M. de Tilly, there you ask me at
once more than I can tell you. I was told, ‘ Guard
the prison,’ and I obey orders. You, gentlemen, who
are almost soldiers yourselves, ought to know that an
order must never be discussed.”

But this order has been given to you so that the
traitors may be enabled to leave the town.”

Very possibly, as the traitors are condemned to
exile,” replied Tilly.

Who is responsible for this order?”

“ The States, to be sure.”

* ‘ The States are traitors. ’ ’

** I don’t know an3'‘thing about that !”

'' And you are a traitor yourself !”

” I?”

Yes, you.”

” Well, as to that, let us understand each other,
my friends. Whom should I betray, — the States?
Why, I cannot betray them, if while I am in their pay,

I faithfully obey their orders.”

Thereupon, the Count being so indisputably in the
right that it was impossible to answer him, the uproar
and threatening language were renewed with re-
doubled energy ; but the Count replied to their extra-
vagant and horrible imprecations with the utmost
courtliness.

My friends,’^ said he, ‘‘uncock your muskets;
one of them may go off by accident, and if the shot
chanced to wound one of my men it would be the
death of a good many of you. We should be very
sorry for that, and you would perhaps be sorrier still,
especially as neither of us has any such purpose.”

“ If you should do that,” cried the burghers, “ we
should take our turn at the same game. ”

“ Very well; but even were you to kill every man

The Two Brothers 13

of US, those whom we had killed would be none the
less dead.’’

Then leave the place to us, and you will play the
part of a good citizen.”

‘‘First of all,”^ said Tilly, “ I am not a citizen^
but an officer, which is a very different thing; and,
secondly, I am not a Hollander, but a Frenchman,
and there the distinction is even greater. I have to
do with no one but the States, by whom I am paid ;
let me see an order from them to leave you in
possession of the square, and I shall only be too
glad to evacuate on the instant, for I am confound-
edly bored here.”

“Yes, yes!” cried a hundred voices, whose
chorus was immediately swelled by five hundred
others; “let us go to the Town-hall and see the
deputies ! Come on ! Come on ! ”

“That’s it,” Tilly muttered, as he saw the most
violent among the crowd turning away; “go to the
Town-hall and seek to procure the perpetration of a
dastardly act, and you will see what answer you
will get. Go, my fine fellows, go 1”

The worthy officer relied on the honour of the
magistrates, who, on their side, relied on his
[lonour as a soldier.

“ Suppose, Captain,” said the first lieutenant in
he Count’s ear, “that the deputies refuse to grant
vhat these madmen demand, and then send us a
;mail reinforcement ; that would not be so bad, would
t?”

Meanwhile, John de Witt, whom we left climbing
he stairs, after his conversation with the jailer
jryphus and his daughter Rosa, had reached the
loon of the cell, where on a mattress lay his brother
llornelius, who had, as we have seen, been subjected
o the preliminary torture. The sentence of banish-
lent having been pronounced, there was no occasion
or inflicting the torture extraordinary.

Cornelius, prostrate on his bed, with wrists broken
nd fingers crushed, because he had refused to con-
^ss a crime he had not committed, was just begin*

14 The Black Tulip

ning to breathe freely once more, after three days
of mortal agony, on being informed that his judges,
at whose hands he had expected sentence of death,
had decided to condemn him to banishment.

Endowed with an iron frame and a stout heart,
how would he have disappointed his enemies, if they
could have seen, in the gloomy depths of his cell in
the Buytenhof, his pale face lighted up by the smile
of the martyr, who having had a foretaste of the
glory of heaven forgets that he has ever wallowed
in earthly mire !

The Ruart, indeed, had already recovered all his
powers, more by the force of his own strong will
than by any care that had been bestowed upon him;
and he was r'l'idr how long the formalities of
the law would still detain him in prison.

It was just at this moment ^at the combined
shouts of the citizen-militia and the mob were at
their loudest, and curses were being heaped upon the
two brothers, mingled with dire threats against Cap-
tain Tilly, who stood a living rampart between them
and their foes. The uproar, breaking against the
walls of the prison like surf against the cliffs,
reached even the prisoner’s ears.

But threatening as was the sound, Cornelius took
no steps to ascertain whence it arose; nor did he
even take the trouble to rise and look out at the
narrow iron-barred window, which gave access to
the light and sound from without.

He was so inured to his never-ceasing pain that
he had almost become indifferent to it. In fact he
was conscious^ of such ecstasy in feeling that his
soul and his mind were about to rise above all bodily
ills, that it seemed to him as if that soul and that
mind had already escaped from their bondage to the
flesh, and were floating in tlie air above his body, as
the expiring flame from an almost extinct fire hovers
above the embers on the hearth.

He was also thinking of his brother. It was his
approach, doubtless, that thus made itself felt,
through the mysterious agency which is now known

The Two Brothers 15

as Tis,iv. At the very moment that John was

so vividly present in the thoughts of Cornelius that
his name was actually upon his lips, the door opened ;
John entered and hurried to the bedside of the
prisoner, who ^stretched out his broken arms and his
hands, tied up in bandages, toward that glorious
brother, whom he had succeeded in surpassing not in
services rendered to the country, but in the hatred
which the Dutch bore him.

John tenderly kissed his brother on the forehead,
and put his maimed hands gently back on the
mattress.

‘‘ Cornelius, my poor brother,” said he, you are
suffering great pain, are you not?”

I suffer no longer since I see you, my brother.”

Oh, my poor dear Cornelius ! I assure you
that I grieve enough for both to see you in such a
state.” ^

” Indeed, I have thought more of you than of
myself ; and while they were torturing me I never
thought of uttering a complaint, except once to say,
^ Poor brother V But now that you are here, let us
forget it all. You have come to take me away, have
you not?”

I have.”

** I am quite cured. Help me to get up, and you
shall see how well I can walk.”

‘ ‘ You will not have to walk far, dear brother, as
I have my coach near the pond, behind Tilly’s
dragoons. ’ ’

” Tilly’s dragoons ! Why are they near the
pond?”

“Well,” said the Grand Pensionary, with the
melancholy smile which was habitual to him, “ you
see there is an idea that the people of the Hague
would like to witness your departure, and there is
some apprehension of a disturbance.”

“ Of a disturbance?” replied Cornelius, fixing his
eyes on his embarrassed brother; “ a disturbance?”

“Yes, Cornelius.”

“ Oh, that’s what I heard just now,” said the

1 6 The Black Tulip

prisoner, as if speaking to himself. Then turning
to his brother, he continued, —

‘‘ There is a great crowd around the Buytenhof, is

there not?’’

Yes, dear brother.”

But that being so, in order to come here ”

“Well?”

How was it that they allowed you to pass?”

You know well that we are not very popular,
Cornelius,” said the Grand Pensionary, with gloomy
bitterness. “ I came through back streets all the
way. ”

‘'You hid yourself, John?”

“ I wished to reach you without loss of time, and
I did what people do in politics, or at sea when the
wind is against them, — I beat to windward.”

At this moment the noise in the square below
seemed to redouble in fury. Tilly was pd 'le\ Ing
with the burghers.

“ Well,” said Cornelius, “you are a very skilful
pilot, John ; but I doubt whether you will be able to
guide your brother out of the Buytenhof in such a
heavy sea, and through the breakers of popular fury,
as happily as you conducted the fleet of Van Tromp
past the shoals of the Scheldt to Antwerp.”

“ With the help of God, Cornelius, we’ll at least
try,” answered John; “ but first of all, a word with
you.”

“ What is it?”

The shouts began anew.

“ Hark, hark !” continued Cornelius; “ how angry
these people are ! Is it against you, or against me?”

‘‘ I should say it is against us both, Cornelius. I
told you, my dear brother, that the Orange party,
while assailing us with their absurd calumnies, have
also made it a reproach against us that we have
negotiated with France.”

“ What blockheads they are!”

“ Very true; but nevertheless they make that
reproach against us. ”

“ And yet if these negotiations had been success-

The Two Brothers 17

fill, they would have prevented the defeats of Rees,
Orsay, Wesel, and Rhcinberg*: the Rhine would not
have been crossed, and Holland might still consider
herself invincible in the midst of her marshes and
canals.’’

‘ ‘ All this is quite true, my dear Cornelius ; but still
more certain it is that if at this moment our corre-
spondence with the Marquis de Louvois were dis-
covered, skilful pilot as I am I should not be able to
save the frail bark which is to carry the brothers De
Witt and their fortunes out of Holland. That corre-
spondence, which would but prove to honest people
how dearly I love my country, and what sacrifices I
have offered to make for its liberty and glory, would
be ruin to us if it fell into the hands of our triumphant
foes, the adherents of the Prince of Orange. There-
fore I trust that you burned every letter, dear Cor-
nelius, before you left Dort to join me at the Hague.”

” My dear brother,” Cornelius answered, ” your
correspondence with M. de Louvois affords ample
proof of your having been of late the greatest, ablest,
and noblest citizen of the Seven United Provinces. I
love my country’s glory, and your fame is dearer to
me than all the world, dear John; therefore I have
taken good care not to burn that correspondence.”

Then we are lost, as far as this life is con-
cerned,” calmly remarked the Ex-Grand Pensionary^
apj;i oiichi'ig the window.

“ No, John, you are altogether wrong, and we
shall find our bodily safety assured.”

“ Pray, what have you done with these letters?”

I have entrusted them to the care of Cornelius
van Baerle, my godson, whom you know, and who
lives at Dort. ’ ’

‘‘ Oh, the poor fellow! the dear, innocent child I
The scholar who knows so many things, and at the
same time (and a rare combination it is) thinks only
of his flowers who offer their daily greeting to God,
and of God himself who makes the flowers grow. So
you have entrusted him with that fatal parcel ? Alas I
dear brother, it will be the ruin of poor Cornelius i”

c

1 8 The Black Tulip

‘‘ His ruin?^’

'^Yes, for he will either be strong or he will be
weak. If he is strong (for, little as he may dream of
what has happened to us, buried in his studies there
at Dort, and incredibly absorbed and d\:-: . as

he is, still he will hear of it sooner or later), then, I
say, if he is strong of heart, he will boast of his
relations with us ; and if he is weak, he will be afraid
of the results of having been intimate with us. If he
is strong, he will proclaim the secret from the house-
tops ; if he is weak he will allow it to be forced from
him. In either case he is lost, and so are we. Let
us, therefore, fiy at once, if indeed we are not too
late.’’

Cornelius raised himself on his couch, and grasp-
ing the hand of his brother, who shuddered at the
touch of the linen bandages, replied, —

‘ ‘ Do I not know my godson ? Have I not learned
to read as in an open book every thought of Van
Baerle’s brain and every emotion of his soul? You
ask whether he is strong or weak. He is neither
the one nor the other; but that is not now the
question. The principal point is, that he is sure
not to divulge the secret, for the very good reason
that he does not know it himself.”

John turned around in surprise.

** Ah !” continued Cornelius, with his gentle smile,

‘ ‘ the Ruart de Pulten has been brought up in the
school of his brother John ; and I repeat to you, dear
brother, that Van B aerie is not aware of the nature
and importance of the deposit which I have entrusted
to him.”

“Quickly, then,” cried John, “as there is still
time, let us convey to him directions to burn the
parcel. ’ ’

“ By whom can we transmit such a direction?”

“ By my servant Craeke, who was to have accom-
panied us on horseback, and who entered the prison
with me, to assist you downstairs.”

“ Consider well before ordering those precious
documents burned, John!”

The Two Brothers 19

I consider above all things that the brothers De
Witt must necessarily save their lives in order to be
able to save their character. When we are dead,
who will defend us? Who will there be who has
even so much as understood us?’’

Do you believe, then, that they would kill us if
those papers were found?”

John, without answering, pointed with his hand to
the square, whence a fresh outburst of fierce shouting
arose at that moment.

Yes, yes,” said Cornelius, I hear these shouts
very plainly, but what is their meaning?”

John opened the window.

Death to the traitors !” howled the populace.

** Do 3^ou hear now, Cornelius?”

‘ To the traitors!’ that means us?” said the
prisoner, raising his eyes to heaven, with a shudder.

Yes, it means us,” repeated John.

‘‘ Where is Craeke?”

“ At the door of your cell, I suppose.”

Pray, let him come in.”

John opened the door; the faithful servant was
waiting on the threshold.

‘‘ Come in, Craeke, and mind well what my brother
will tell you.”

No, John; it will not suflRce to send a verbal
message; unfortunately I shall be obliged to wTite.”

“Why so?”

“ Because Van Baerle will neither give up the
parcel nor burn it without a special command to do
so.”

“ But will you be able to write, my dear fellow?”
John asked, with a compassionate glance at his poor
hands all scorched and bruised.

“ If I had pen and ink you would soon see,” said
Cornelius.

“ Here is a pencil, at any rate.”

“ Have you any paper? They have left me
nothing.”

“ Here, take this Bible, and tear out the fly-leaf.”

“ Very well, that will do.”

20

The Black Tulip

‘ ‘ But your writing- will be illeg-ible. ’ ^

‘‘ Never fear/* rejoined Cornelius, glancing at his
brother. ‘‘ These fingers which have resisted the
screws of the executioner, and this will of mine which
has triumphed over pain, will unite in a common
efifort ; so have no fear that the lines will be disfigured
by any tremulousness of my hand.**

Cornelius actually took the pencil and began to
write, whereupon great drops of blood, forced from
bis raw wounds by the pressure of his fingers upon
the pencil, could be seen oozing out beneath the
white linen.

Great drops of sweat stood upon the brow of the
Grand Pensionary.

Cornelius wrote, —

“August 20, 1672.

“ My dear Godson, — Burn the parcel which I have
entrusted to you. Burn it without looking at it, and
without opening it, so that its contents may for
ever remain unknown to yourself. Secrets of this
description are death to those with whom they are
deposited. Burn it, and you will have saved the lives
of John and Cornelius.

Farewell, and love me.

“ Cornelius de Witt.’*

John, with tears in his eyes, wiped off a drop of
the noble blood which had soiled the leaf ; and having
handed the dispatch to Craeke with final directions,
returned to Cornelius, from whose face the pain had
driven every vestige of colour, and who seemed near
fainting.

‘*Now,*’ said he, when honest Craeke sounds
his old boatswain*s whistle, it will mean that he is
clear of the mob and has reached the other side of
the pond. And then it will be our turn to depart.*'

Five minutes had not elapsed before a long and
shrill whistle, blown in true seaman’s style, made
itself heard through the leafy canopy of the elms
and above all the uproar around the Buytenhof.

The Pupil of John de Witt 21

John raised his clasped hands heavenward in
And now,” said he, let us be off, Cornelius.”

CHAPTER III

THE PUPIL OF JOHN DE WITT

While the clamour of the crowd in the square of
the Buytenhof, which grew more and more menacing
against the two brothers, determine4 John de Witt
to hasten the departure of his brother Cornelius, a
deputation of burghers had gone to the Town-hall to
demand the withdrawal of Tilly^s horse.

It was not far from the Buytenhof to the Hoog-
straet ; and a stranger, who since the beginning of
this scene had watched all its incidents with intense
interest, was seen to wend his way with, or rather in
the wake of, the others toward the Town-hall, to
learn as soon as possible what took place there.

This stranger was a very young man, of some
twenty-two or three years, and for aught that
appeared without especial vigour. He evidently had
reasons for not wishing to be recognized, for he con-
cealed his pale, face in a handkerchief of

fine Frisian linen, with which he incessantly wiped
his brow or his burning lips.

With an eye as keen as that of a bird of prey, a
long aquiline nose, and a finely-cut mouth, which
was slightly open and was like a wound across his
face, this man would have presented to Lavater, if
Lavater had lived at that time, a subject for physiog-
nomical investigations, the first results of which
might not have been very favourable to the stranger.

“ What difference can be detected between the
features of a conqueror and those of a successful
pirate?” the ancients used to ask.

The same difference that there is between the eagle

22

The Black Tulip

and tlie vulture, — in the one case a serene and tran-
quil expression, in the other fear and inquietude.

By the same token, those pallid features and that
slender sickly body, which hung* upon the skirts of
the howling mob from the Buytenhof to the Hoog-
straet, were the very type and model of a suspicious
employer, or a thief in fear of arrest; and a police-
officer would certainly have decided in favour of the
latter supposition, on account of the great care with
which the person who now occupies our attention
sought to conceal his identity.

He was plainly dressed, and apparently unarmed;
his thin, wiry arm and his veined hand of aristocratic
whiteness and delicacy were resting, not on the arm,
but on the shoulder of an officer, who with his hand
on his sword watched, with an interest easily under-
stood, the drama that was being enacted around the
Buytenhof, until his companion had left the square
and compelled him to follow.

On arriving at the square in front of the Hoog-
straet, the man with the pale face pushed the other
behind an open shutter, and fixed his eyes upon the
balcony of the Town-hall.

At the savage yells of the mob, the window of the
Hocgstract opened, and a man came forth to parley
with the people.

‘‘Who is that on the balcony?’’ the young man
asked the officer, indicating by the direction of his
glance merely the orator, who seemed much excited,
and held himself erect by the help of the balustrade,
rather than iJeaned upon it.

“ It is Deputy Bowelt,” replied the officer.

* ‘ What sort of man is he ? Do you know anything
of him?”

‘ ‘ An honest man ; at least I believe so, Mon-
seigneur. ”

The young man upon hearing this appreciative
estimate of Bowelt ’s character from his companion
showed signs of such strange disappointment and
evident dissatisfaction that the officer could not but
remark it, and hastened to add, —

The Pupil of John de Witt 23

At least people say so, Monseigneur. I cannot
say anything about it myself, as I have no personal
acquaintance with Mynheer Bowelt. ^ ^

An honest man,” repeated he who was addressed
as Monseigneur; ” do you mean to say that he is
an honest man {brave homme), or a brave one {homme
brave) ? ’ *

‘‘Ah, Monseigneur must excuse me; I would not
presume to draw such a fine distinction in the case of
a man whom, I assure your Highness once more, I
know only by sight.”

“Well,” the young man muttered, “let us wait,
and we shall soon see.”

The officer bowed his head in token of assent, and
was silent.

“ If this Bowelt is an honest man,” his Highness
continued, “ these hot-heads will meet with a very
queer reception at his hands.”

The nervous quiver of his hand, which moved in-
voluntarily on the shoulder of his companion, like
the fingers of a pianist over the keyboard, betrayed
his burning impatience, so ill-concealed at certain
times, and particularly at that moment, under the
cold and sombre expression of his face.

The chief of the deputation of the burghers was
then heard interrogating the Deputy, whom he re-
quested to let them know where the other deputies,
his g-’C"-. were.

“Gentlemen,” Bowelt repeated for the second
time, “ I assure you that at this moment I am here
alone with Mynheer d’Asperen, and I cannot come to
any decision on my own responsibility.”

“The order! we want the order!” cried several
thousand voices.

Mynheer Bowelt undertook to speak; but his words
cotild not be heard, and he was only seen moving his
arms in all sorts of despairing gestures. When, at
last, he saw that he could not make himself heard, he
turned towards the open window, and called Mynheer
d’Asperen.

The latter gentleman now made his appearance on

24 The Black Tulip

the balcony, where he was saluted with shouts even
more e icr<;clic than those with wdiich ^lynheer
Bowelt had been received ten minutes before.

This did not prevent him from undertaking the
difficult task of haranguing the mob; but the mob
preferred to bear down by force all opposition on the
part of the States — which, however, offered no resist-
ance to the sovereign people — rather than to listen
to the speech of Mynheer d’Asperen.

''Come,*' the young man coolly remarked, while
the crowd was rushing into the principal door of the
Hoogstraet, ‘‘ it seems that the question will be dis-
cussed indoors, Colonel. Come, and let us hear the
debate.”

“Oh, Monseigneur! Monseigneur 1 take care!”

“ Of what?”

“ Among these deputies, there are many who have
had dealings with you ; and it would be sufficient that
only one of them should recognize your Highness.”

“ Yes, to lay the foundation for the charge that I
have been the instigator of all this work ; indeed, you
are right,” said the young man, blushing for a
moment from regret of having betrayed so much
eagerness. Yes, you are right; let us remain here.
From this place we can see them return with or with-
out the order for the withdrawal of the dragoons, and
then we may judge whether Mynheer Bowelt is an
honest man or a brave one, which I am anxious to
ascertain.”

“ Why,” replied the officer, looking with astonish-
ment at the personage whom he addressed as Mon-
seigneur, “ why, your Highness surely does not sup-
pose for one instant that the deputies will order
Tilly’s horse to quit their post?”

“ Why not?” asked the young man coldly.

“ Because to issue such an order would be tanta-
mount to signing the death-warrant of Cornelius and
John de Witt.”

“We shall see,” his Highness replied with the
most perfect coolness. “ God alone knows what is
going on within the hearts of men.”

The Pupil of John de Witt 25

The officer looked askance at the impassible counte-
nance of his companion, and grew pale : he was an
honest man as well as a brave one.

From the spot where they stood, his Highness and
his attendant heard the tumult and the heavy tramp
of the crowd on the staircase of the Town-hall.

Then the noise seemed to fill the whole square, as it
came pouring out through the open windows of the
hall, on the balcony in front of which Mynheers
Bowelt and d’Asperen had appeared; they had, mean-
while, withdrawn inside the building, fearing doubt-
less that they might, if they remained on the balcony,
be forced over the balustrade into the street by the
pressure of the crowd.

After this, confused h ■‘i, shapes were seen

to pass to and fro in front of the windows : the
council-hall was filling.

Suddenly the noise subsided ; and as suddenly again
it rose with redoubled intensity, and at last reached
such a pitch that the old building shook to the very
roof.

At length the living stream poured back through
the galleries and stairs to the door, and they saw it
come rushing out through the arched gateway like
water from a spout.

At the head of the first group, a man was flying
rather than running, his face hideously distorted with
Satanic glee : this man was the surgeon Tyckelaer.

‘ * We have it ! we have it ! ^ ’ he cried, brandishing
a paper in the air.

‘‘They have the order!” muttered the officer, in
amazement.

“Well, then,” his TTighress quietly remarked,
“ now my mind is relieved. You could not tell
me, my dear Colonel, whether Mynheer Bowelt was
an honest or a brave man; now I know that he is
neither.”

Then, gazing steadily after the crowd, which was
rushing along before him, he continued, —

‘ ‘ Let us now go to the Buytenhof , Colonel I I
expect we shall see a very strange sight there.”

26 The Black Tulip

The officer bowed, and without making any reply,
followed in the steps of his master.

There was an immense crowd in the square and
about the approaches to the prison ; but the dragoons
of Tilly still held it in check as effeclively and
unflinchingly as before.

It was not long before the Count heard the increas-
ing din of the approaching multitude, and soon he
spied the advanced guard rushing on with the
rapidity of a cataract.

At the same time, he observed the paper, which was
waving in the air above the clenched fists and glitter-
ing weapons.

“AhaT’ he exclaimed, rising in his stirrups and
touching his lieutenant with the hilt of his sword, I
really believe these rascals have got the order. '*

‘‘What dastardly ruffians they are!" cried the
lieutenant.

It was indeed the order, which the burgher-
guard received with a roar of triumph. They imme-
diately left their position and advanced, with low-
ered arms and fierce shouts, toward Count Tilly's
dragoons.

But the Count was not the man to allow them to
approach inconveniently near.

“ Halt !" he cried, “ halt, and keep back from my
horses' heads, or I give the word to advance.”

“ Here is the order," a hundred insolent voices
answered at once.

He took it in amazement, cast his eyes rapidly over
it, and said aloud, —

“ The men who signed this order are the real
murderers of Cornelius de Witt. I would rather
have my two hands cut off than have written one
single letter of this infamous order."

Pushing back with the hilt of his sword the man
who wanted to take it from him, he added, —

‘ ‘ One moment ; papers like this are of importance,
and should be preserved."

Saying this, he folded up the document, and care-
fully put it in the pocket oi his doublet.

The Pupil of John de Witt 27

Then, turning- round toward his troop, he gave the
word of command, —

‘‘ Dragoons, attention ! Right wheel

He added in an undertone, yet loud enough for his
words to be not altogether lost to those about him, —

‘‘ And now, butchers, do your work

A savage yell, which voiced all the keen hatred and
ferocious triumph which were rife in that prison
square, welcomed with a fresh outburst of jeering
and yelling the departure of the troops as they quietly
filed away.

The Count tarried behind, facing to the last the
infuriated populace, who followed, inch by inch, upon
his horse’s retreating steps.

John de Witt, as may be seen, had by no means
exaggerated the danger, when he assisted his brother
to rise and tried to hasten his departure.

Cornelius, leaning on the arm of the Ex-Grand
Pensionary, descended the stairs which led to the
courtyard. At the bottom of the staircase he found
the fair Rosa trembling like a leaf.

‘‘ Ob, Mynheer John P’ she exclaimed, “what a
misfortune

“ What is it, my child?” asked De Witt.

“ Why, they say that they are gone to the Hoog-
s tract to obtain an order for Tilly horse to with-
draw. ’ ’

“ It cannot be,” replied John. “ Indeed, my dear
child, if ih(‘ di j 1, are withdrawn, we shall be in
a very sad plight. ‘ '

“ I have some advice to give you,” Rosa said,
trembling even more violently than before.

“ Weil, let us hear what you have to say, my
child. Why should I be surprised if God speaks to
me through you?”

“ Well, then, Mynheer John, if I were in your
place, I should not go out through the main street.”

* ‘ Why so, as the dragoons of Tilly are still at their
post?”

“ Very true; but their orders, so long as they are
not revoked, enjoin them to stop before the prison.”

28 The Black Tulip

“ Undoubtedly.”

“ Have you ,an order for them to accompany you
out of the town ? ’ ^

‘‘We have not.”

“ Well, then, as soon as you have passed the ranks
of the dragoons, you will fall into the hands of the
people. ”

“ But the burgher-guard ? ”

‘ ‘ Alas ! the burgher-guard are the most hot-headed
and furious of all. ’ ’

“ What are we to do, then?”

“If I were in your place, Mynheer John,” the
young girl timidly continued, “ I should go out by
the postern. It opens upon a by-street, which will be
quite deserted, for everybody is waiting in the Hoog-
straet to see you come out by the principal entrance.
Thence I should try to reach the gate by which you
intend to leave the town.”

“ But my brother is not able to walk,” said John.

“ I will try,” Cornelius said, with an expression of
most sublime fortitude.

“But have you not your carriage?” asked the
girl.

“ The carriage is waiting near the main entrance.”

“ Not so,” she replied. “ I considered your coach-
man to be a faithful man, and I told him to wait for
you at the postern. ’ *

The brothers looked at one another with much
emotion, and then their united gaze rested upon the
young girl with an expression that told of their heart-
felt gratitude.

“The question is now,” said the Grand Pension-
ary, “whether Gryphus will open this door for us.”

“ Indeed he will do no such thing,” said Rosa.

“ Then what are we to do, pray?”

“ I foresaw a refusal on his part, and just now,
while he was talking from the window of the porter’s
lodge with a dragoon, I took away the key from his
bunch. ’ ’

“ And you have got it?”

“ Here it is, Mynheer John.”

The Pupil of John de Witt 29

My child/’ said Cornelius, I have nothing to
give you in exchange for the service you are render-
ing us but the Bible which you will find in my room.
It is the last gift of an honest man ; I hope it will
bring you good luck. ”

“ I thank you, Mynheer Cornelius; it shall never
leave me/’ replied Rosa.

Alas ! what a pity it is that I do not know ho-w
to read/’ she said to herself with a sigh.

“ The shouts and cries are growing louder and
louder/’ said John; “there is not a moment to be
lost.”

“ Come this way,” said the maiden, who now led
the two brothers through an inner lobby to the back
of the prison. ^Guided by her, they descended a stair-
case ot about a dozen steps, traversed a small court-
yard, which was surrounded by strong walls, and
the arched door having been opened for them by
Rosa, they found themselves outside the prison in a
lonely street, where their carriage was waiting for
them with the steps lowered.

“ Quick, quick, my masters; do you hear them?”
Cried the coachman, in a deadly fright.

But after having made Cornelius get into the
carriage first, the Grand Pensionary turned towards
the blushing girl, to whom he said, —

“ Good-bye, my child. All the words in the world
would but weakly express our gratitude ; but we will
commend you to God, who will remember, I trust,
that you have saved the lives of two of his creatures. ’ *

Rosa took the hand which John de Witt held out
to her, and kissed it with every show of respect.

“ Go 1 for Heaven’s sake, go!” she said; “it
seems as if they were forcing the door. ’ ’

John hastily got in, seated himself by the side of
his brother, and called out to the coachman, as he
drew the curtains close, —

“ To the Tol-Hek I”

The Tol-Hek was the iron gate leading to the
harbour of Schevening, in which a small vessel was
waiting for the two brothers.

30 The Black Tulip

Tlie carriage drove off with the fugitives at the full
speed of a pair of spirited Flemish horses. Rosa
followed them with her eyes, until they turned the
corner of the street; whereupon she re-entered the
prison, closing the postern behind her, and threw the
key into a well.

The noise which had led Rosa to suppose that the
people were forcing the prison door was caused by
the mob, who had made a tremendous -CM'-";* upon
it as soon as the square was evacuated by the troops.

Solid as the door was, and although^ Gryphus, to
do him justice, stoutly refused to open it, yet it was
evident that it could not long hold out against such an
assault; and Gryphus, pale as death, was just asking
himself whether it would not be better to open it than
to let it be broken in pieces, when he felt some one
gently pulling his coat.

He turned round and saw Rosa.

Do you hear these madmen?” he said.

I hear them so well, my father, that if I were in

your place ”

You would open, the door?”

“No, I should let them get in as best they can.”

“ But they will kill me !”

“ Yes, if they see you.”

“ How do you propose that I should avoid being
seen?^ *

“ Hide yourself.”

“ Where, pray?”

“ In the secret dungeon.”

“ But you, my child?”

“ I will go with you, father. We will lock the
door, and when they have left the prison, we can
come out from our hiding-place.”

“ By my soul, it's a good plan!” cried Gryphus;
“ it's surprising how much sense there is in this
little head!”

Then, as the gate began to give way amid the
triumphant shouts of the mob, she opened a little
trap-door, and said, —

“ Come, father, hurry.”

The Murderers 31

But meanwhile what will become of our
prisoners?’*

“ God will watch over them/’ said the maiden^

while I watch over you.”

Gryphus followed his daughter, and the trap-door
closed over his head just as the door fell in, and gave
admittance to the populace.

The dungeon where Rosa had induced her father to
hide himself, which was known as the secret dungeon,
and where for the present we must leave the two,
afforded them a perfectly safe retreat, being known
only to the authorities, who used sometimes to con-
fine important prisoners of state there, to guard
against a rescue or an uprising.

The people rushed into the prison, with the cry
of,—

Death to the traitors I To the gallows with
Cornelius de Witt I Death ! death I”

CHAPTER IV

THE ^MURDERERS

The young man, with his hat still drawn over his
eyes, still leaning on the arm of the officer, and still
wiping his brow and his lips with his handkerchief
from time to time, standing motionless in a corner
of the square of the Buytenhof, and sheltered from
observation by the overhanging shutters of a closed
shop, was intent upon the spectacle afforded by the
antics of the infuriated mob, — a spectacle which
seemed to draw near its catastrophe.

“ Indeed,” said he to the officer, ” I believe you
were right, Van Deken, — the order which the
deputies have signed is really the death-warrant of
Mynheer Cornelias. Do you hear these people? They
certainly have a most bitter enmity against the De-
Witts.”

32 The Black Tulip

In truth/’ replied the officer, ‘'I never heard
such yelling.”

They must have found out our man’s cell. Look,
look I is not that the window of the cell where Cor-
nelius was confined?”

A man had seized with both hands and was violently
shaking the iron bars of the window in the room
which Cornelius had left only ten minutes before.

“Hallo, there,” shrieked the man; “he is not
here !”

“ How is that, — not there?” those of the mob who
had been the last to arrive called from the street,
being unable to force their way into the prison, so
crowded was it.

“No, no,” repeated the man in a rage; ” he must
have made his escape. ’ ’

“ What does the fellow say?” asked his Highness,
growing quite pale.

“Oh, Monseigneur, he says something which
would be very fortunate if it should turn out
tzue!”

“ Certainly, it would be fortunate if it were true,”
said the young man. “ Unfortunately it cannot be
true. ”

“ But look !” said the officer.

And indeed, other faces, furious and contorted with
rage, showed themselves at the windows, crying, —

‘ ‘ Escaped ! gone ! they have been assisted to
escape.”

And the people in the street repeated with fearful
imprecations, —

“Escaped! gone! Let us run after them, and
hunt them down ! ’ *

“ Monseigneur, it would seem that Mynheer Cor-
nelius has really escaped,” said the officer.

“Yes, from prison, perhaps,” replied the other,
“ but not from the town. You will see, Van Deken,
that the poor fellow will find the gate closed against
him which he hoped to find open.”

“ Has any order been given to close the town
gates, Monseigneur?”

The Murderers 33

No, — at least I do not think so; who could have
given such an order?’ '

‘ ‘ Who, indeed ! What leads your Highness to
think so?”

“There are such things as fatalities,” his High-
ness replied, in an off-hand manner; “ and the
greatest men have sometimes fallen victims to them.”

At these words the officer felt his blood run cold,
for he felt sure that in one way or another the
fugitive’s fate was sealed.

At this moment the roar of the multitude broke
forth like thunder, for they had become quite certain
that Cornelius de Witt was no longer in the prison.

Cornelius and John had driven along by the edge of
the pond and taken the main street which leads to the
Tol-Hek, giving directions to the coachman to
slacken his pace, in order that no suspicion might be
aroused by the rapid pace at which they were driving.

But when he had gone so far that he could see
the gate in the distance, and reflected that he was
leaving imprisonment and death behind while life and
liberty lay before him, the coachman neglected every
precaution, and urged his horses to a gallop.

All at once he stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked John, putting his
head out of the coach-window.

“ Oh, my masters !” cried the coachman, “ the — ”

The honest fellow’s terror was so great that he
could not speak.

“Well, go on; what is it?” urged the Grand
Pensionary.

“ Alas 1 the gate is closed.”

“ What ! the gate closed? It is not usual to close
the gate during the day.”

“But look!”

John de Witt leaned out of the window, and saw
that the gate was indeed closed.

“ Never mind, but drive on,” said John; “ I have
with me the order for the commutation of the punish*'
ment, and the gatekeeper will let us pass.”

The carriage resumed its journey, but it was

B

34 The Black Tulip

evident that the driver was no longer urging* his
horses as confidently as before.

Moreover, when John de Witt put his head out of
the c\] -ririge-windov., he was seen and recognized by
a brewer, who, being behind his companions, was just
putting up his shutters in all haste to join them at the
Buytenhof. He uttered a cry of surprise, and ran
after two other men, who were hurrying along before
him. He overtook them about a hundred yards
farther on, and told them what he had seen. The
three men then stopped, looking after the carriage,
being, however, not yet quite sure whom it contained.

The carriage in the meanwhile arrived at the Tol-
Hek.

“ Open I” cried the coachman.

Open !** echoed the gatekeeper, from the thres-
hold of his lodge; it’s all very well to say, ‘ Open,’
but what am I to do it with?”

With the key, to be sure,” said the coachman.

** With the key? Oh, yes ! but in order to do that
one must have it. ’ ’

‘ ‘ What ! Do you mean to say that you have not
the key of this gate?” demanded the coachman.

‘^No, I haven’t it!”

What has become of it?”

** Why, they have taken it from me.”

Who?”

Some one, probably, who had a mind that no one
should leave the town. ’ ’

My good man,” said the Grand Pensionary,
putting out his head from the window, and risking
all to save all; ” my good man, it is for me, John
de Witt, and my brother Cornelius, whom I am
taking away into exile.”

Oh, Mynheer de Witt ! I am indeed grieved
beyond measure,” said the gatekeeper, rushing to-
wards the carriage; “ but upon my honour, the key
has been taken from me.’*

When, pray?”

** This morning.”

‘‘By whom?”

The Murderers 35

“By a pale, thin young man of about twenty-
two. ^ ’

‘ ‘ Why did you give it up to him ? * ’

“ Because he showed me an order, signed and
sealed.”

“ By whom?”

“ By the gentlemen at the Town-hall.”

“In that event,” said Cornelius, calmly, “our
doom seems to be sealed.”

Do you know whether the same precaution has
been taken at all the other gates ? ’ ’

“I do not.”

“ Come,” said John to the coachman, “ God
enjoins upon man to do all that is in his power to
preserve his life; drive to another gate.”

Then while the servant was turning his horses,
John said to the gatekeeper, —

“Thanks for your good intentions, my good
friend; the will must count for the deed. You had
the will to save us, and in the eyes of the Lord, it is
as if you had succeeded. * ’

“Alas!” said the gatekeeper, “do you see vi^hat
is going on down there?”

“Drive at a gallop through that group,” John
called out to the coachman, “ and take the street to
the left; it is our only hope.”

The group which John alluded to had for its nucleus
those three men whom we left looking after the
carriage, and who since that time, while John was
talking with the gatekeeper, had been joined by seven
or eight others.

These new-comers were evidently n-'cd''? i mis-
chief with regard to the carriage.

When they saw the horses galloping down upon
them, they placed themselves across the street,
brancilshing cudgels in their hands, and calling out,—

“ Stop ! stop I”

The coachman, however, leaned toward them, and
lashed them furiously with his whip.

At last the carriage and its would-be wrreckers
came together*

36 The Black Tulip

The brothers De Witt could see nothing, being
closely shut up in the carriage. But they could feel
the rearing of the horses, followed by a violent shock.
There was a moment of suspense, while the vehicle
seemed to shake in every part ; but it almost immedi-
ately set oif again, passing over something round and
elastic, which seemed to be the body of a prostrate
man, and whirled away amid a volley of the fiercest
oaths.

‘‘ Alas said Cornelius, ‘‘I am afraid we have
hurt some one.’’

Faster ! faster !” cried John.

But notwithstanding this order the carriage sud-
denly came to a standstill.

Well ! what now?” asked John.

‘ * Look there ! ’ ’ said the coachman.

John looked.

The whole mass of the populace from the Buytenhof
appeared at the end of the street through which the
carriage was passing, and came roaring on as if
driven by a cyclone.

“ Stop, and save yourself,” said John to the coach-
man ; ‘‘it is useless to go any farther, — we are lost !”

“Here they are! here they are!” five hundred
voices were crying* at the same time.

“Yes, here they are, the traitors, the murderers,
the assassins !” answered the men who were running
after the carriage to the people who w^ere coming to
meet it. The former carried in their arms the lifeless
body of one of their companions, who had been
trodden down by the horses while trying to seize their
heads.

His body was the object over which the two
brothers had felt their carriage pass.

The coachman stopped his horses, but notwith-
standing his master’s entreaties he refused to make
his escape.

In an instant the carriage was surrounded by those
who followed and those who were coming toward it.

For an instant it rose above the mass of moving
heads like a floating island.

The Murderers 37

But suddenly the floating island came to a stand-
still. A blacksmith with his hammer struck down
one of the horses, who fell in his traces.

At this moment, the shutter of a window opened,
and disclosed the pale face and gloomy eyes of the
young man, who watched the approaching cata-
strophe with most absorbed interest.

Behind him appeared the face of the officer, almost
as pale as his own.

Good heavens, Monseigneur, what is going to
happen?” whispered the officer.

“ Something very terrible, to a certainty,” replied
the other.

‘‘Oh, see, Monseigneur! they are the

Grand Pensionary from the carriage; they strike
him ; they tear him to pieces !”

“ Indeed, these people must certainly be moved by
most intense hatred,” said the young man, with the
same impassible tone which he had maintained
throughout.

“And now they are d : <;* out Cornelius, —

Cornelius, who is already all torn and mangled by the
torture. Oh, look, look, for God’s sake !”

“ Indeed, it is Cornelius beyond doubt.”

The officer uttered a feeble cry, and turned his
head away.

What had happened was that the Ruart de Puiten,
while he was yet on the lowest step of the carriage,
and before he had set foot on the ground, received a
blow from an iron bar, which broke his skull. He
rose once more, but immediately fell again.

Some fellows then seized him by the feet and
dragged him into the crowd, into the midst of which
one might have followed him by the trail of blood he
left behind him; and the infuriated rabble closed in
upon him with savage yells of malignant exultation.

The young man — a thing which would have been
thought impossible — grew even paler than before,
and his eyes were for a moment veiled behind the
lids.

The officer saw this sign of compassion, the first

38 The Black Tulip

that ills companian had allowed to escape him, and
wishing to avail himself of his softer mood —

“ Come, come, Monseigneur/' he exclaimed, “ for
here they are also going to murder the Grand

Pensionary/’ .

But the young man had already opened his eyes

again.

“ So they are!” he said. ‘‘The people are im-
placable. It does not pay to offend them. ”

“ Monseigneur,” said the officer, “could we not
save this poor man, who has been your Highness’s
tutor? If there be any way, tell me, and though I
should perish in the attempt ”

William of Orange — for he it was— frowned
sternly; but restraining the gleam of bitter malice
which glistened in his half-closed eye, he answered, —

“ Colonel van Deken, go, I beg you, and see that
my troops are under arms, and ready for any emerg-
ency. ”

“But am I to leave 'h • - here, alone,

within reach of all these murderers?’^

“ Pray don’t worry about my welfare more than I
do myself,” was the Prince’s gruff rejoinder. “ Go !”

The officer started off with a speed which was much
less owing to his military instinct of obedience than
to his pleasure at being relieved from the necessity of
witnessing the shocking spectacle of the murder of
the other brother.

He had scarcely left the room, when John — who,
with an almost superhuman effort, had reached the
stone steps of a house nearly opposite that where
his former pupil Ijiding— began to stagger under
the blows which were inflicted on him from all sides,
calling out, —

“ My brother — ^where is my brother?”

One of the ruffians knocked off his hat with a blow
of his clenched fist.

Another waved his bloody hands in his face : this
worthy had disembowelled Cornelius, and was now
intent upon seizing the opportunity of serving the
Grand Pensionary in the same manner, while they

The Murderers 39

were dr?^£^:ng the dead body of Cornelius to the
gibbet.

John uttered a piteous cry, and put one of his hands
before his eyes.

Oh! you close your eyes, do you?’^ said one of
the soldiers of the ; . 'd; “ well, I will save

you the trouble by putting them out for you.

He suited the action to the word by stabbing him
with his pike in the face, whereupon the blood spurted
forth.

“ My brother!’^ cried John de Witt, trying to see,
through the stream of blood which blinded him, what
had become of Cornelius ; “ my brother, my brother ! ”

'‘Go, and join him!*’ roared another of the
assassins, putting his musket to his temple and pull-
ing the trigger.

But it missed fire.

The fellow then shifted his musket, and taking it
by the barrel with both hands, struck down John de
Witt with the stock.

John staggered and fell at his feet ; but once more
he raised himself with a last effort, and cried, —

" My brother !” in so heartrending a tone that the
young man opposite closed the shutter.

However, there was little more to see, for a third
assassin held a pistol close to his face and fired it.
This time the weapon did not miss fire, and the bullet
blew out his brains."'

John de Witt fell to rise no more.

Thereupon every one of the miscreants, embold-
ened by his fall, must needs fire his gun at him, or
strike him with the sledge-hammer, or stab him with
knife or sword ; every one must needs drain a drop of
blood from the fallen hero, and tear off a shred of his
garments.

Then, after they had mangled and torn and com-
pletely stripped the two brothers, the mob dragged
their naked and bloody bodies to an extemporized
gibbet, where amateur executioners hung them up by
the feet.

Then came the most dastardly scoundrels of all.

40 The Black Tulip

who had not dared approach them when alive, but cut
the dead flesh in pieces, and then went about in the
town selling small slices of the bodies of John and
Cornelius at ten sous a piece.

We cannot take upon ourselves to say whether,
through the almost imperceptible chink of the shutter,
the young man witnessed the conclusion of this shock-
ing scene; but at the very moment when they were
hanging the two martyrs on the gibbet, he made his
way through the mob, which was too much absorbed
in its congenial task to take any notice of him, and
reached the Tol-Hek, which was still closed.

** Ah, Mynheer,’' cried the gatekeeper, have you
brought back the key?”

“ Yes, my man, here it is.”

“Alas! it is most unfortunate that you did not
bring it to me just a quarter of an hour sooner,”
said the gatekeeper, with a sigh.

“ Why so?” asked the Prince.

“ Because I might then have opened the gate for
the brothers De Witt; whereas, finding it locked,
they were obliged to retrace their steps, and they
have fallen into the hands of the ruffians who were
pursuing them.”

“ Gate ! gate !” cried a voice, which sounded as if
its owner were in a tremendous hurry.

The Prince turned and recognized Colonel van
Deken.

“Is that you, Colonel?” he said. “ Have you not
left the Hague yet ? This is executing my orders very
slowly. ”

“ iVlonseigneur, ” replied the Colonel, “ this is the
third gate at which I have presented myself ; the two
others were closed.”

“ Well, this good man will open this one for us. —
Open, my friend,” said the Prince to the gatekeeper,
who stood gaping with astonishment on hearing the
title of Monseigneur which Colonel van Deken
bestowed upon this pale young man, to whom he
himself had been speaking in such a familiar way.

As if to make up for his fault, he hastened to

The Murderers 41

Open the To!-Hek, which swung creaking on its
hinges.

“ Will Monseigneur take my horse asked the
Colonel.

‘ ‘ Thanks, Colonel, but I should have a mount
waiting for me close at hand.'’

And taking from his pocket a golden whistle, such
as was generally used at that time for summoning
one’s servants, he blew a long shrill blast upon it,
whereupon an equerry on horseback speedily made his
appearance, leading another horse by the bridle.

William, without touching the stirrup, vaulted into
the saddle of the led horse, and, spurring vigorously,
set off toward the Leyden road.

At tha* fw^int he turned. The Colonel was follow-
ing ^ him within a horse’s length. The Prince
motioned him to ride beside him.

y Do you Jknow,” he then said, without drawing
rein, that those rascals have killed John de Witt
as well as his brother?”

‘‘Alas, !” the Colonel answered

sadly, “ I should like it much better if these two
obstacles still existed between yourself and the actual
Stadtholderate of Holland.”

“ Certainly, it would have been better,” said
William, “ if what did happen had not happened.
But it cannot be helped now, and we have had nothing
to do with it. Let us push on, Colonel, so that we
may arrive at Alphen before the message which the
States are sure to send to me in camp. ’ ’

The Colonel bowed, allowed the Prince to ride
ahead, and fell back to the same position he occupied
before the Prince addressed him.

“ Ah !” muttered William of Orange, with an evil
frown, clenching his teeth and drh-irig his spurs into
his horse’s side; “ah! I should like well to see the
expression on the face of Louis, the Sun of the
World, when he learns what has befallen his trusty
friends, the De Witts ! Oh, thou Sun ! thou Sun I
as surely as I am called William the Taciturn, thou
Sun, thou hadst best look to thy radiance ! ’ ’

42 The Black Tulip

And away upon his mettled steed sped this young
Prince, the relentless rival of the great king; this
Stadtholder in embryo, who had been, but the day
before, very uncertainly established in his new-born
power, but for whom the burghers of the Hague had
built a staircase with the bodies of John and Cor-
nelius, two princes as noble as he in the eyes of God
and man.

CHAPTER V

THE TULIP-FANCIER AND HIS NEIGHBOUR

While the of the Hague were tearing in

pieces the bodies oi John and Cornelius de Witt, and
while William of Orange, after having made sure
that his two antagonists were really dead, was gallop-
ing along the Leyden road, followed by Colonel van
Deken, whom he found a little too compassionate to
honour him any longer with his confidence, Craeke,
the faithful servant, mounted on a good horse, and
little suspecting what terrible events had taken place
since his departure, rode along the tree-lined embank-
ments until he was clear of the town and the neigh-
boiiiing \iil'ges.

Being once safe, he left his horse at a livery stable,
in order not to arouse suspicion, and tranquilly con-
tinued his journey on the canal-boats, which conveyed
him by easy stages to Dort, making their way under
skilful guidance by the shortest possible routes
through the windings of the stream, which held in
its watery embrace so many fascinating little islands,
edged with willows and rushes and abounding in
luxuriant vegetation, whereon flocks of fat sheep were
browsing sleepily and peacefully.

Craeke from afar recognized Dort, the smiling city,
at the foot of a hill dotted with windmills. He saw
the fine red-brick houses, mortared in white lines,

The Tulip-Fancier 43

bathing* their feet in the water, and their balconies,
open toward the river, decked out with silk tapestry
embroidered with gold flowers, the wonderful fabrics
of India and China; and near these brilliant stuffs,
long lines set permanently to catch the greedy eels,
which are attracted toward the houses by the garbage
thrown every day from the kitchen windows into the
river.

Craeke, standing on the deck of the boat, saw,
across the moving sails of the windmills, on the slope
of the hill, the red and white house which was his
goal. The outlines of its roof were hidden by the
yellow foliage of a screen of poplar trees, the whole
building having for ; .i a dark grove of

gigantic elms. It was so situated that the sun’s rays
were concentrated upon it, and made dry and warm
and even wholesome the mist, which the barrier of
trees could not prevent the wind bringing thither from
the river every morning and evening.

Having disembarked unobserved amid the usual
bustle of the city, Craeke at once directed his steps
toward the house we have just described, and of
which we offer our readers a description, which is
indispensable.

White, trim, and tidy, even more cleanly scoured
and more carefully waxed in the hidden corners than
in the places which were exposed to view, this house
gave shelter to a truly happy mortal.

This happy mortal, rara avis, as Juvenal has it, was
Dr. van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt.
He had inhabited the house we have described ever
since his childhood ; for it was the house in which his
father and grandfather, old-time noble merchants of
the noble city of Dort, were born.

Mynheer van Baerle, the father, had amassed in
the Indian trade three or four hundred thousand
florins, which Mynheer van Baerle, the son, at the
death of his loving and cherished parents, in 1688,
found still quite new, although one set of them bore
the date of 1640, and the other that of 1610, — a fact
which proved that they were the florins of Van Baerle

44 The Black Tulip

the father and of Van Baerle the grandfather; but we
hasten to say that these three or four hundred thou-
sand florins were only pocket-money for Cornelius van
Baerle, the hero of this story, as his landed property
in the province yielded him an income of about ten
thousand florins a year.

When the worthy citizen, Cornelius’s father,
shuffled off this mortal coil three months after the
decease of his wife, who seemed to have gone first
to lighten his path in death as she had ■ e;' his

journey through life, he said to his son, as he em-
braced him for the last time, —

“ Eat, drink, and spend your money, if you wish
to know what life really is ; for as to toiling from
morn to evening on a wooden stool or in a leathern
chair, in a :v. *' or a laboratory, that cer-

tainly is not living, xour turn to die will come; and
if you are not then so fortunate as to have a son, you
will let our name die out, and my astonished florins,
which no one has ever weighed but my father, myself,
and the coiner, will find themselves the property of
an unknown master. Above all things, do not imitate
the example of your godfather, Cornelius de Witt,
who has plunged into politics, the most ungrateful
of all careers, and who will certainly come to an
untimely end. ”

And so worthy Mynheer van Baerle died, to the
intense grief of his son Cornelius, who cared very
little for the florins and very much for his father.

Cornelius thereafter remained alone in his great
house.

In vain his godfather offered him a place in the
public service ; in vain did he try to arouse In him a
thirst for glory, — although Cornelius, to gratify his
godfather, did embark with De Ruyter upon ‘‘The
Seven Provinces,” the flagship of a fleet of one
hundred and thirty-nine sail, with which the famous
admiral set out to contend single-handed against the
combined forces of France and England. When,
guided by the pilot L^ger, he had come within
musket-shot of the “ Prince,” with the Duke of York

The Tulip-Fancier 45

(the English king’s brother) aboard, upon which De
Ruyter, his Mentor, made so sharp and well-directed
an attack that the Duke, perceiving that his vessel
would soon have to strike, made the best of his way
aboard the ‘‘ Saint Michael;’’ when he had seen the
‘‘ Saint Michael,” riddled and shattered by the Dutch
broadside, drift out of the line; when he had wit-
nessed the sinking of the ‘‘ Earl of Sandwich,” and
the death by fire or drowning of four hundred sailors ;
when he realized that the result of all this destruction
— after twenty ships had been blown to pieces, three
thousand men killed and five thousand injured — was
that nothing was decided, that both sides claimed the
victory, that the fighting would soon begin again, and
that just one more name, that of South wold Bay, had
been added to the list of battles; when he had esti-
mated how much time is lost simply in shutting his
eyes and ears by a man who likes to use his reflective
powers even while his fellow-creatures are cannon-
ading one another, — Cornelius bade farewell to De
Ruyter, to the Ruart de Pulten, and to glory ; kissed
the knees of the Grand Pensionary, for whom he
entertained the deepest veneration, and retired to his
house at Dort, rich in his well-earned repose, his
twenty-eight years, an iron constitution, and keen per-
ceptions, and his capital of more than four hundred
thousands of florins, and income of ten thousand, con-
vinced that a man is always endowed by Heaven with
too much for his own happiness, and just enough to
make him miserable.

Consequently, and to indulge his own idea of happi-
ness, Cornelius began to be interested in the study of
plants and insects ; collected and classified all the
Flora of the islands, arranged the whole entomology
of the province, on which he wrote a treatise, with
plates drawn by his own hands ; and at last, being at
a loss what to do with his time, and especially with
iiis money, which went on accumulating at a most
alarming rate, he took it into his head to choose
among _^11 the fads of his country and of his age one
of the most elegant and expensive*

46 The Black Tulip

He became a tulip-fancier. *

It was the time, as is well known, when the Dutch
and the Portuguese, rivalling each other in this
branch of horticulture, had begun to deify the tulip,
and to make more of a cult of it than ever naturalists
dared to make of the human race, for fear of arousing
the jealousy of the Deity.

Soon from Dort to Mons people talked of nothing
but Mynheer van Baerle’s tulips; and his beds, pits,
drying-rooms, and drawers of bulbs were visited, as
the galleries and libraries of Alexandria were in the
olden days by illustrious Roman travellers.

Van Baerle began by expending his yearly revenue
in laying the ground-work of his collection, after
which he encroached upon his store of new florins to
bring it to perfection. His exertions, indeed, were
crowned with most magnificent results : he produced
five new species of tulips, which he called the “ Jane,
after his mother ; the “ Van Baerle,’^ after his father;
and the Cornelius,” after his godfather: the other
names have escaped us, but amateurs will be sure to
find them in the catalogues of the time.

In the beginning of the year 1672, Cornelius de
Witt came to Dort for three months, to live at his old
family mansion ; for it is known not only that he was
born in that city, but that the De Witt family had its
origin there.

Cornelius at that period, in the words of William
of Orange, was I)c:>^nfung to enjoy the most perfect
unpopularity. And yet in the minds of his fellow-
citizens the good burghers of Dort, he was not lost
beyond redemption; and while they did not particu-
larly like his somewhat too pronounced republican-
ism, they were proud of his personal worth, and when
he visited their town they hastened to offer him the
loving-cup.

After he had expressed his thanks to his fellow-
citizens, Cornelius proceeded to his old family man-
sion, and gave directions for some repairs, which he
wished to have made before the arrival of Jiis wife
and children.

The Tulip-Fancier 47

Thence the Ruart de Pulten directed his steps
toward the house of his godson, who, perhaps, was
the only person in Dort as yet unacquainted with the
presence of Cornelius in his native town.

In the same degree as Cornelius de Witt had
excited hatred by sowing those evil seeds which are
called political passions, Van Baerle had won the
good-will of his fellow-citizens by completely neglect-
ing the cultivation of politics in his absorption in
tulip-culture.

Van Baerle was truly beloved by his servants and
labourers ; therefore he could not conceive that any
man on earth could wish ill to another.

And ^ yet it must be said, to the discredit of
humanity, that Cornelius van Baerle, without know-
ing it, had a much more ferocious, fierce, and implac-
able enemy than the Grand Pensionary and his
brother had up to that time been made aware of
among those members of the Orange faction who
were most hostile to the devoted brothers, who had
never been sundered by the least misunderstanding
during their lives, and by their mutual devotion in the
face of death made sure the existence of their more
than brotherly affection beyond the grave.

From the time when Cornelius van Baerle began to
devote himself to tulip-growing, he had spent on this
hobby his j^early revenue and the florins of his father.
There was at Dort, living next door to him, a citizen
of the name of Isaac Boxtel, who from the day that
he had begun to think for himself had indulged the
same fancy, and would almost faint at the mere
mention of the word ‘‘tulban,'’ which (as we are
assured by the “ Floriste Francaise,” the most highly-
considered authority in matters relating to this flower)
is the first word in the Cingalese tongue which was
ever used to designate that masterpiece of floriculture
which is now called the tulip.

Boxtel had not the good fortune of being rich like
Van Baerle. He had, therefore, with great care and
patience, and by dint of strenuous exertions, laid out
near his house at Dort a erarden fit for the culture of

48 The Black Tulip

his cherished flower ; he had mixed the soil according
to the most approved directions, and given to hh
hot-beds just as much heat and fresh air as th«
strictest rules of horticulture exact.

Isaac knew the temperature of his frames to the
twentieth part of a degree. He knew the strength oi
the current of air, and managed the draught so that i1
would not impart too violent a motion to the stems of
his flowers. His specimens soon began to meet with
favour. They were beautiful, and sought after, too.
Several fanciers had come to see BoxteTs tulips. At
last he brought forth amid all the Linnaeuses and
Tourneforts a tulip which bore his name, and which,
after having travelled all through France, had found
its way into Spain, and penetrated as far as Portugal,
where King Don Alphonso VI., — who when driven
from Lisbon had retired to the Island of Terceira,
where he amused himself, not like the Great Cond6,
with watering his carnations, but with growing tulips,
— on seeing the Boxtel,’^ remarked that it was
** NOT BAD.”

All at once Cornelius van Baerle, who after all his
learned pursuits had been seized with the tulipomania,
made some changes in his house at Dort, which, as we
have stated, was next door to that of Boxtel. He added
one storey to a certain building in his courtyard,
which took away about half a degree of warmth from
BoxtePs garden, and in exchange returned half a
degree of cold ; not to mention that it interfered with
the draught, and upset all the horticultural calcula-
tions and arrangements of his ncigJiboiir.

After all, this mishap appeared to Boxtel of no great
consequence. Van Baerle was but a painter; that is
to say, a species of lunatic, who distorts and dis-
figures Nature’s wonders by trying to reproduce them
on canvas. The painter, he thought, had raised his
studio one storey to get better light, as he had a
perfect right to do. Mynheer van Baerle was a
painter, as Mynheer Boxtel was a tulip-grower; he
wanted somewhat more sun for his paintings, and so
he took half a degree from his neighbour’s tulips.

The Tulip-Fancier 49

The law was with Van Baerle, and he must make
the best of it.

Moreover Isaac made the discovery that too much
sun was injurious to tulips, and that this flower grew
more quickly and assumed more g*orgeous hues with
the temperate warmth of morning and evening- than
with the powerful heat of the midday sun. He there-
fore felt almost grateful to Cornelius van Baerle for
having furnished him with a sunshade at no expense.

It may be that this was not entirely true, and that
BoxteBs real feelings were not accurately reflected in
what he said about his neighbour; but great minds
find a marvellous amount of comfort in philosophical
reflections, even in the midst of most terrible
calamities.

But, alas I what was the agony of the unfortunate
Boxtel on seeing the windows of the newly-built storey
set out with bulbs and seedlings, with tulips in full
bloom, and tulips in pots; in short, with everything
dear to the heart of a monomaniac in tulips.

There were bundles of labels, pigf‘OR-ho!c and
drawers with compartments, and wire-guards for the
pigeon-holes, to allow free access to the air while
keeping out mice, weevils, field-mice, dormice, and
rats, all of them very inquisitive and expensive
amateurs in tulips at two thousand francs a bulb.

Boxtel was amazed when he saw all this apparatus,
but he was not as yet aware of the full extent of his
misfortune. Van Baerle was known to be fond of
everything that pleases the eye. He studied Nature
in all her aspects for the benefit of his paintings, which
were as carefully finished in detail as those of Gerard
Dow, his master, and of Midris, his friend. Was it
not possible, that, having to paint the interior of a
tulip-grower's, he had collected in his new studio all
the accessories of its decoration ?

Yet although somewhat comforted by this illusory
supposition, Boxtel was not able to resist the burning
curiosity which was devouring him. In the evening,
therefore, he placed a ladder against the partition-wall
between their gardens, and looking into that of his

50 The Black Tulip

nelg-hbour Van Baerle, he convinced himself that the
soil of a large square bed, which had formerly been
occupied by different plants, had been dug up and
re-arranged in beds of loam mixed with river mud (a
combination which is particularly favourable to the
tulip), and the whole surrounded by a border of turf
to keep the soil in its place. Besides this, the bed
was so arranged as to receive the rays of the rising
and setting sun, while sufficiently shaded to temper
the noon-day heat; water in abundant supply was
close at hand, and it had a south-west exposure. In
short, nothing was lacking to insure not only success
but real advancement. There could be no doubt that
Van Baerle had become a tulip-grower.

Boxtel at once pictured to himself this learned
man, with a capital of four hundred thousand and a
yearly income of ten thousand florins, devoting all
his intellectual and financial resources to tulip culture
on a vast scale. He foresaw his neighbour's success
vaguely but near at hand ; and he felt such a pang at
the mere idea of this success that his hands dropped
powerless at his side, his knees trembled, and in his
despair he fell headlong from the ladder.

Thus it was not for the sake of painted tulips but
for real ones that Van Baerle took from him half a
degree of warmth. Thus Van Baerle was to have the
most admirable exposure to wind and sun, and,
besides, a large chamber in which to preserve his
bulbs and seedlings, — a well-lighted, airy, and well-
ventilated apartment, — ^which was an unattainable
luxury for Boxtel, who had been obliged to give up
for this purpose his bedroom, and, lest the presence of
animal organisms might injure his bulbs and seed-
lings, had taken up his abode in a miserable garret.

Boxtel, then, was to have next door to him a rival
and competitor, perhaps a successful one; and this
rival, instead of being some unknown obscure gar-
dener, was the godson of Mynheer Cornelius de Witt,
— that is to say, a celebrity.

Boxtel, as the reader may see, was not possessed
of the spirit of Porus, who, on being conquered by

The Hatred of a Tulip-Fancier 51

Alexander, consoled himself with the renown of his
conqueror.

What would happen if Van Baerle should ever pro-
duce a new variety of tulip, and name it the John de
Witt, after having named one the Cornelius ? It was
indeed enough to make one choke with rage.

Thus Boxtel, in his jealous foreboding, became the
prophet of his own misfortune, and foresaw what was
to happen. And after having made this melancholy
discovery, he passed the most wretched night possible
to imagine.

CHAPTER VI

THE HATRED OF A TULIP-FANCIER

From that moment Boxtel was no longer absorbed
in his flowers, but was anxious and afraid. He laid
aside the pursuit of a favourite subject, which gives
vigour and elevation to the eiforts of mind and body
alike, and all his thoughts ran only upon the injury
which his neighbour was likely to inflict upon him.

Van Baerle, as may easily be imagined, had no
sooner begun to apply the keen intellect with which
Nature had so bountifully endowed him to his new
fancy than he succeeded in growing the finest tulips.
Indeed, he succeeded better than any one at Harlem
or Leyden — the two towns which can boast the best
soil and the most congenial climate — in varying the
colours, modifying the shape, and producing new
species.

He belonged to that witty, ingenious school, who
took for their motto in the seventeenth century the
aphorism uttered by one of their number in 1653, —
“ To despise flowers is to offend God.

From that premise the school of tulip-fanciers, the
most exclusive of all schools, worked out the follow-
ing syllogism in the same year, —

52 The Black Tulip

“ To despise flowers is to offend God.

“ The more beautiful the flower is, the more does one offend
God in despising- it.

“ The tulip IS the most beautiful of all flowers.

Therefore, he who despises the tulip offends God beyond
measure. ’’

By such reasoning, it can be seen that the four or
five thousand tulip-growers , of Holland, France, and
Portugal, leaving out those of Ceylon and China and
the Indies, might, if so disposed, put the whole world
under the ban, and condemn as schismatics and
heretics and deserving of death the several hundred
millions of mankind whose hopes of salvation were
not centred upon the tulip.

We cannot doubt that in such a cause Boxtel,
though he was Van Baerle's deadly foe, would have
marched under the same banner with him.

Mynheer van Baerle, therefore, was very success-
ful, and his name was in everybody’s mouth; so that
Boxtel disappeared for ever from the list of the
notable tulip-growers in Holland, and the fraternity
of Dort were now represented by Cornelius van
Baerle, the modest and inoffensive savant.

Thus from the most slender branch the grafted
scion sends forth its most luxuriant shoots, and the
sweet-brier, with its four colourless petals, is but
the forerunner of the huge, sweet-smelling rose.
Thus, too, have the proudest royal lines sometimes
had their origin in the hut of a wood-cutter or the
fisherman’s cabin.

Engrossed, heart and soul, in his pursuits of sow-
ing, planting, and gathering, Van Baerle, petted by
the whole fraternity of tulip-growers in Europe,
entertained not the least suspicion that there was at
his very door a pretender whose throne he had
usurped.

He went on in his career, and consequently in his
triumphs ; and in the course of two years he covered
his beds with such marvellous productions as no
mortal man following- in the steps of the Creator,
except perhaps Shakespeare and Rubens, has ever
equalled.

The Hatred of a Tulip-Fancier 53

If the necessity had arisen to find some new repre-
sentative of a condemned soul omitted by Dante,
Boxtel, 'during- this time, would have served excellently
as a model. While Cornelius was weeding, manuring,
watering his beds ; while, kneeling on the turf-border,
he analyzed every vein of the flowering tulips, and
meditated on the modifications which might be
effected by possible new combinations of colour,
Boxtel, concealed behind a small sycamore, which he
had trained at the top of the partition-wall and which
he made use of as a screen, watched, with his eyes
starting from their sockets and with foaming mouth,
every step and every gesture of his ^ \ . and

whenever he thought he saw him look happy, or
descried a smile on his lips, or a gleam of content-
ment in his eyes, he would pour forth such a volley
of maledictions and furious threats that one could
hardly conceive how such wrath and envy-laden
breath could fail to infect the stalks of the poor
flowers, and sow the seeds of decay and death among
them.

Before long — such rapid progress does the spirit
of evil make, when it has once become master of the
human heart — Boxtel was no longer content with
wnichir.g Van Baerle. He wanted to see his flowers
too ; he had the feelings of an artist, and the master-
piece of a rival engrossed his interest.

He therefore bought a telescope, which enabled
him to watch, as accurately as did the owner himself,
every progressive development of the flower, from the
moment when in the first year Its pale seed-leaf begins
to peep from the tcy that when after five years

it raises on high hs pro-o and graccfu* sialk, upon
which uncertain shades of colour appear, and flower-
petals at last unfold and reveal the hidden treasures
of its calyx.

How often did the miserable jealous wretch,
perched on his ladder, perceive in Van Baerle^s beds
tulips which dazzled him by their beauty and almost
choked him with their perfection of form and colour !

And then, after the first wave of admiration which

54 The Black Tulip

he could not resist, he began to be tortured by the
pangs of envy, by that fever which preys upon the
heart and changes it into a nest of vipers feeding upon
one another, — the awful source of unspeakable suffer-
ing.

How many times did Boxtel, in the midst of
tortux'es which no pen is able fully to describe, feel
tempted to jump down into the garden during the
night, to destroy the plants, to tear the bulbs with his
teeth, and to sacrifice to his wrath the owner himself,
if he should venture to defend his tulips !

But to destroy a tulip was a horrible crime in the
eyes of a genuine tulip-fancier; as to killing a man, it
would not have mattered so very much.

Yet Van Baerle made such progress in the science,
which he seemed to master instinctively, that Boxtel
at last was maddened to such a degree as to seriously
contemplate throwing stones and sticks into the
flower-beds of his neighbour. But when he reflected
that the very next morning. Van Baerle, upon dis-
covering his loss, would lay an information; that it
would appear that the street was a long way off, and
that sticks and stones no longer had a way of falling
from the sky in the seventeenth century as they used
to do in the time of the Amalekites; and that the
author of the crime, though it was perpetrated in the
night, would surely be found out, and that he would
not only be punished by law, but also dishonoured
for ever in the eyes of all the tulip-growers of Europe,
Boxtel whetted his hatred by stratagem, and resolved
to employ a means which would not compromise
himself.

He considered a long time, and at last found what
he sought.

One evening he tied two cats together by their hind-
legs with a string about six feet in length, and threw
them from the wall into the midst of that noble, that
princely, that royal bed, which contained not only
the Cornelius de Witt,*’ but the “ Brabanponne ”
as well, — milk-white, and purple and pink ; the
“ Marbr^e de Rotre,” — ^flax-coloured, with brilliant

The Hatred of a Tulip-Fancier 55

red and incarnadine streaks ; the ‘ ‘ Merveille de
Harlem/’ the “ Colombin Obscur,” and the

Colombin Clair Terni,”

The terrified animals, falling violently from the top
of the wall, rushed across the bed, each in a different
direction, until the string by which they were tied to-
gether was stretched taut; then however, finding that
they could go no farther, they tore back and forth
with hideous miaouing, mowing down with their
string the flowers among which they were disporting
themselves, until, after a furious strife of about a
quarter of an hour, they succeeded in breaking the
string which bound them together, and vanished.

Boxtel, hidden behind his sycamore, could not see
anything on account of the darkness ; but the piercing
cries of the cals told the whole tale, and his heart,
overflowing with gall, was now throbbing with tri-
umphant joy.

Boxtel was so eager to ascertain the extent of the
injury, that he remained at his post until morning, to
feast his eyes upon the sorry plight in which the two
cats had left his neighbour’s flower-beds. The mists
of the morning chilled his frame, but he did not feel
the cold, the hope of revenge keeping his blood at
fever heat. The chagrin of his rival was to pay for
all the inconvenience which he incurred himself.

With the first rays of the sun the door of the white
house opened, and Van Baerle made his appearance,
appro the flower-beds with the smile of a man

who has passed the night comfortably in his bed, and
has had happy dreams.

All at once he perceived furrows and little mounds
of earth on the beds, which only the evening before
had been as smooth as a mirror; all at once he per-
ceived that his symmetrical rows of tulips were in
complete disorder, like the ranks of a battalion in the
midst of which a shell has fallen.

He ran up to them with blanched cheek.

Boxtel trembled with joy. Fifteen or twenty
tulips, torn and crushed, were lying about, some o£
them bent, others completely broken and already

56 The Black Tulip

withering; the sap was oozing from their wounds.
How gladly would Van Baerle have redeemed that
precious sap with his own blood !

But, oh ! the surprise, oh, the delight of Van
Baerle ! and, oh, the unspeakable disappointment of
Boxtel ! Not one of the four tulips which the latter
had meant to destroy was injured at all. They raised
proudly their noble heads above the corpses of their
slain companions. This was enough to console Van
Baerle, and enough to make the assassin burst with
rage ; and he tore his hair at the sight of the effects
of the crime which he had committed, but committed
in vain.

Van Baerle, while deploring the misfortune which
had befallen him, but which, by the goodness of God,
was of far less consequence than it might have been,
was utterly at a loss to account for it. On making
inquiries, he learned that there had been a terrible
amount of noise all night. He found traces of the
cats, too, in their footmarks, and hair left behind on
the battle-field ; and to guard against a similar out*
rage in future, he gave orders that henceforth one of
the under-gardeners should sleep in the garden, in a
box near the flower-beds.

Boxtel heard him give the order, and saw the box
put up that very day; and deeming himself lucky in
not having been suspected, but more than ever in-
censed against the successful horticulturist, he
awaited a more favourable opportunity.

About this time, the Tulip Society of Harlem
offered a prize for the discovery (we dare not say the
manufacture) of a large black tulip without a spot of
colour, a problem which had never been solved, and
was considered insoluble ; for at that time there was
no variety of the tulip species of so dark a shade as
bistre even. It was, therefore, generally said that
the founders of the prize might just as well have
offered two^ millions as a hundred thousand livres,
since the thing was impossible.

The tulip-growing world was none the less excited
from centre to circumference. Some fanciers caught

The Hatred of a Tulip-Fancier 57

at the idea without believing it practicable ; but such
is the power of imagination among florists, that al-
though considering the undertaking as certain to
fail, all their thoughts were engrossed by the wonder-
ful black tulip, which was supposed to be as
chimerical as the black swan of Horace or the white
blackbird of French tradition.

Van Baerle was one of the tulip-growers who con-
ceived the idea of trying for the prize, while Boxtel
was of the number who looked upon it only as a
chimaera. Van Baerle, as soon as the idea had once
taken root in his clear and ingenious mind, began
slowly the planting and cross-breeding necessary to
change the tulips which he had grown already hvm
red to brown, and from brown to dark brown.

By the next year he had obtained flowers of a
perfect bistre, and Boxtel espied them in the bed,
whereas he had himself as yet only succeeded in pro-
ducing the light brown.

It might perhaps be interesting to explain to the
gentle reader the beautiful chain of theories which
go to prove that the tulip borrows its colours from the
elements ,* perhaps we should give him pleasure if we
were to maintain and establish that nothing is impos-
sible for a florist who avails himself with judgment
and discretion and patience of the sun’s heat, the
clear water, the juices of the earth, and the cool
breezes. But this is not a treatise upon tulips in
general ; it Is the story of one particular tulip which
we have undertaken to write, and to that we limit
ourselves, however alluring the subject which is so
closely allied to ours.

Boxtel, once more worsted by the superiority of his
hated rival, was now completely disgusted with
tulip-growing, and being half mad with jealousy
devoted himself entirely to spying.

The house of his rival was quite open to view,
— a. garden exposed to the sun, cabinets with
transparent glass walls, shelves, cupboards, boxes,
and ticketed pigeon-holes, which could easily be sur-
veyed by the telescope. Boxtel allowed his bulbs to

58 The Black Tulip

rot in the pits, his seedlings to dry up in their cases,
and his tulips to wither in the beds; and hence-
forward concentrating all his energy in liis eyesight,
occupied himself with nothing else but the doings at
Van Baerle's; he breathed through the stalks of
Van Baerle^s tulips, quenched his thirst with the
water he sprinkled upon them, and feasted upon the
fine, soft earth which his neighbour scattered upon
his cherished bulbs.

But the most curious part of the operations was
not performed in the garden*

At one o’clock in the morning Van B aerie would
go up to his laboratory, into the glazed cabinet
whither BoxteVs telescope had such easy access ; and
here, as soon as the lamp illuminated the walls and
windows, Boxtel would behold the inventive genius
of his rival at work.

He beheld him sorting his seeds, and soaking
them in liquids which were designed to modify or to
deepen their colours. He could imagine what was
going on when he saw Cornelius heating certain
grains, then moistening them, then combining them
with others by a sort of grafting, — a minute and
marvellously delicate manipulation, — and when he
shut up in darkness those which were expected to
furnish the black colour, exposed to the sun or to the
lamp those which were to produce red, and to the
endless reflection of two water-mirrors those in-
tended to be white, and to represent the liquid
element in all its purity.

This innocent magic, the fruit of childlike musings
and of manly genius combined; this patient untiring
labour, of which Boxtel knew himself to be incap-
able, made him, gnawed as he was with envy, centre
all his life, all his thoughts, and all his hopes in his
telescope.

For, strange to say, his own love for and interest
in the art of horticulture had not extinguished in
Isaac his fierce envy and thirst for revenge. Some-
times, while his telescope was fastened upon Van
Baerle, he would have an idea that he was taking

Acquaintance with Misfortune 59

aim at him with a musket that never missed; and
then he would feel with his finger for the trigger to
fire the shot which should strike him down. But it
is time that we should show the connection between
the labours of the one and the o-oV' ‘‘rpc of the other
and the visit which Cornelius \ ^ iii paid to his
native town.

CHAPTER VII

THE HAPPY MAN MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH
MISFORTUNE

Cornelius de Witt, having attended to his
family affairs, reached the house of his godson,
Cornelius Van Baerle, just at nightfall in the month
of January, 1672.

De Witt, although he was himself very little of a
horticulturist or of an artist, went over the whole
establishment from the studio to the greenhouse, in-
specting everything from the pictures down to the
tulips. He thanked his godson for having joined
him on the deck of the Admiral’s ship, ‘‘The
Seven Provinces,” during the battle of Southwold
Bay, and for having given his name to a magnificent
tulip, — and all this with the kindness and affability of
a father to a son ; and while he thus inspected Van
Baerle’s treasures, a crowd gathered before the door
of the happy man, drawn thither by curiosity, but
respectful in their demeanour.

All this hubbub excited the attention of Boxtel,
who was just takmg his evening meal by his fireside.
He inquired what it meant, and on being informed of
the cause of all the stir, climbed up to his post of
observation, where in spite of the cold he took his
stand, with the telescope at his eye.

This telescope had not been of great service to him
since the autumn of 1671. The tulips, like true
daughters of the east averse to cold, will not live in

6o The Black Tulip

the open gfround in winter. They need the shelter of
the house, the soft bed on the shelves, and the con-
g'enial warmth of the stove. Van Baerle, therefore,
passed the whole winter in his laboratory in the midst
of his books and pictures. He went only rarely to
the room where he kept his bulbs, unless it were to
admit now and then the sun's rays, which he would
surprise in their descent, and compel to enter, willy-
nilly, by opening one of the movable sashes of the
glass front.

On the evening of which we are speaking, after the
two Corneliuses had visited together all the apart-
ments of the house, followed by a few servants, De
Witt said in a low voice to Van Baerle, —

‘‘ My dear son, send these people away, and let us
be alone for a while. ”

The younger man, bowing assent, said aloud, —

“ Do you care to see my tulips’ drying-room.
Mynheer?”

The drying-room ! The pantheon of the tulip-cult,
the tabernacle, the holy of holies, was like Delphi of
old interdicted to the profane uninitiated.

Never valet had set his audacious foot within those
sacred precincts, as the great Racine would say.
Cornelius admitted only the inoffensive broom of an
old Frisian housekeeper, who had been his nurse,*
and who, from the time when he had devoted himself
to the culture of tulips, ventured no longer to put
onions in his stews, for fear that she might by
mistake pluck and serve up one of her foster-child’s
idols.

At the mere mention of the drying-roojn, there-
fore, the servants, who were carrying the lights,
respectfully fell back. Cornelius, taking the candle-
stick from the hands of the foremost, conducted his
godfather into the room in question.

Let us here add that the diy:ng-room was that
very cabinet with a glass front into which Boxtel was
continually prying with his telescope.

The envious spy was watching more intently than
ever.

Acquaintance with Misfortune 6i

First of all he saw the windows lighted up.

Then two dark figures appeared.

One of them tall, majestic, stern, sat down near
the table on which Van Baerle had placed the taper.

In this figure, Boxtel recognized the pale features
of Cornelius de Witt, whose long hair, parted in
front, fell over his shoulders.

The Ruart de Pulten, after having said some few
words to Cornelius, whose purport 'the prying neigh-
hour could not read in the movement of his lips, took
from his breast and handed him a white parcel, care-
fully sealed, which Boxtel, judging from the manner
in which Cornelius received it and placed it in one of
the presses, supposed to contain papers of the
greatest importance.

His first thought was that this precious deposit
inclosed some newly-imported bulbs from Bengal or
Ceylon; but he soon reflected that Cornelius de Witt
was very little addicted to tulip-growing, and that he
only occupied himself with man, — a plant much less
agreeable to look upon and vastly more difficult to
cultivate with success. He therefore came to the
conclusion that the parcel contained simply some
papers, and that these papers related to politics.

But why should papers relating to politics be
intrusted to Van Baerle, who not only was, but even
boasted of being, an entire stranger to that science,
which in his opinion was more occult than chemistry,
or even alchemy itself?

It was undoubtedly an important parcel which Cor-
nelius de Witt, already threatened by the unpopu-
larity with which his countrymen were beginning to
honour him, was placing in the hands of his godson,
— a contrivance so much the more cleverly devised
on the part of the Ruart, as it certainly was not at all
likely that it would be sought in the house of one
who had always stood aloof from every sort of
intrigue.

And, besides, if the parcel had been made up of
bulbs, Boxtel knew his neighbour too well not to be
sure that Van Baerle would not have lost one

62 The Black Tulip

moment in satisfying his curiosity and feasting his
eyes on the present which he had received.

But, on the contrary, Cornelius had received the
parcel from the hands of ‘his godfather with every
mark of respect, and put it by with the same respect-
ful manner in a drawer, placing it far back, partly,
no doubt, so that it might not readily be seen, and
partly so that it should not take up too much of the
room which was reserved for his bulbs.

The parcel being thus secreted, Cornelius de Witt
got up, pressed the hand of his godson, and turned
toward the door.

Van Baerle seized the candlestick, and left the
room first, so as to light his godfather more satis-
factorily.

Thereupon the light gradually left the cabinet, and
re-appeared on the staircase, then in the porch, and
finally in the street, where there was still a great
crowd of people waiting to see the Ruart enter his
carriage.

The envious fellow was not mistaken in his sup-
position. The parcel entrusted to Van Baerle and
carefully locked up by him was nothing more nor less
than John de Witt’s correspondence with the Marquis
de Louvois. The deposit was made, however, by
Cornelius, as he told his brother, without giving to
his godson the least intimation concerning the politi-
cal importance of the secret. He merely desired
him not to deliver the parcel to any one but to him-
self, or to whomsoever he should send to claim it in
his name.

And Van Baerle, as we have seen, locked it up
with his most precious bulbs.

Then the Ruart took his leave, the bustle ceased,
and the lights went out; and our good man thought
no more of the parcel, while Boxtel, on the other
hand, thought much about it, and looked upon it as
a clever pilot does on the distant and scarcely per-
ceptible cloud which grows larger as it approaches
and threatens a storm.

And now here are all the branches of our tale

Acquaintance with Misfortune 63

planted in that rich tract of country which stretches
from Dort to the Hague. Let him follow them who
will, in the chapters which follow ; we have kept our
word, and have demonstrated that neither John nor
Cornelius de Witt had at that time in all Holland
so relentless a foe as Van Baerle had at his own door
in Dort in the person of Isaac Boxtel.

Meanwhile, happy in his ignorance, Van Baerle
had proceeded step by step toward the goal sug-
gested by the Horticultural Society of Harlem. He
had progressed from bistre to the colour of roasted
coffee; and on the very day when the frightful
events took place at the Hague, which we have
related in the preceding chapters, we find him about
one o’clock in the day gathering from the beds the
still unfruitful bulbs raised from the seed of tulips
of the colour of roasted coffee, which, being ex-
pected to flower for the first time in the spring of
1673, would undoubtedly produce the large black
tulip required by the Harlem Society,

On the 20th of August, 1672, at one o’clock, Cor-
nelius was, therefore, in his drying-room, with his
feet resting on the foot-bar of the table and his
elbows on the cover, gazing with intense delight on
three bulbs which he had just detached from the
mother bulb, pure, perfect, and entire, the priceless
germs of one of the most marvellous productions
of nature and science, whose united efforts, if
crowned with success, would render the name of
Cornelius van Baerle for ever illustrious.

“I shall find the b*lack tulip,” said Cornelius to
himself, as he detached the bulbs. ‘‘ I shall obtain
the hundred thousand florins offered by the Society.

I will distribute them among the poor of Dort; and
thus the hatred which every rich man has to en-
counter in times of civil commotion will be allayed,
and I shall he able, without fearing any harm from
either Republicans or Orangists, to keep as hereto-
fore my beds in splendid condition. I need no more
be afraid lest when a riot is in progress, the shop-
keepers of the town and the sailors of the port should

64 The Black Tulip

come and root up my bulbs, to boil them as onions
for their families, as they have sometimes quietly
threatened to do when they happened to remember
my having: paid two or three hundred florins for one
bulb. It is therefore settled that I shall give the
hundred thousand florins of the Harlem prize to the
poor. And yet

Here Cornelius paused, and heaved a sigh.

“ And yet,’" he continued, “ it would have been so
very delightful to spend the hundred thousand florins
on the "( m of my tulip-bed, or even on a

journey to the East, the country of beautiful flowers I
But, alas ! these are no thoughts for the present
times, when muskets, standards, proclamations, and
beating of drums are the order of the day.”

Van Baerle raised his eyes to heaven, and sighed
again. Then, glancing toward his bulbs, — objects
of much greater importance to him than all those
muskets, standards, drums, and proclamations which
in his mind were invented for no other purpose than
to disturb the repose of honest people, — ^he said —

'‘These are, indeed, beautiful bulbs; how smooth
they are, how well formed I There is that air of
melancholy about them which promises to produce a
flower of the colour of ebony. On their skin one
cannot even distinguish the veins with the naked
eye. It is almost sure that not a spot will disfigure
the mourning robe of the flower which will owe its
existence to me.

“ By what name shall we call this offspring of my
sleepless nights, of my labour and my thought?
Tulip a nigra Barlcensis.

“Yes, Barlcensis; a fine name. All the tulip-
fanciers — that is to say all the intelligent people of
Europe — -will feel a thrill of excitement when the
report flies upon the wings of the wind to the four
quarters of the globe, —

“ The great black tulip is found! ‘How is it
called?’ the fanciers will ask. — ‘ Tulipa nigra Bar-
isensis P — ‘Why Barlcensis ?^ — ‘After its grower,
Van Baerle,’ will be the answer. ‘ And who is this

Acquaintance with Misfortune 65

Van Baerle?’ — * He is the same man who has
already produced five new tulips : The Jane, the John
de Witt, the Cornelius de Witt, etc. ’ Well, that is
my ambition. It will cause no one to shed a tear.
And people will still talk of my Tulipa nigra
Barlaensis, when, perhaps, my godfather, the illustri-
ous politician, will be known only from the tulip to
which I have given his name.

Oh, these lovely bulbs !

When my tulip has flowered,’^ Cornelius con-
tinued, “ and when tranquillity is restored in
Holland, I shall give to the poor only fifty thousand
florins, which after all is a goodly sum for a man
who is under no obligation whatever. Then with
the remaining fifty thousand florins I shall make
experiments. With them I mean to succeed in
imparting scent to the tulip. Ah, if I should succeed
in giving it the odour of the rose or the carnation, or,
what would be still better, a completely new scent;
if I should restore to this queen of flowers her
natural distinctive perfume, which she has lost in
passing from her Eastern to her European throne,
and which she must have in the Indian peninsula at
Goa, Bombay, and Madras, and especially in that
island which in olden times, as is asserted, was the
terrestrial paradise, and which is called Ceylon — oh,
what glory I In that event, I declare I would rather
be Cornelius van Baerle than Alexander, Csesar, or
Maximilian.

** Oh, these adorable bulbs !”

Thus Cornelius indulged in the delights of con-
templation, and lost himself in sweetest dreams.

Suddenly the bell of his cabinet was rung much
more violently than usual.

Cornelius, startled, laid his hands on his bulbs,
and turned round.

“ Who is there?” he asked.

** Mynheer,” answered the servant, “it is a mes-
senger from the Hague.”

“ A messenger from the Hague! What does he
want?”

F

66 The Black Tulip

It is Craeke, Mynheer.’’

** Craeke ! the confidential servant of Mynheer
John de Witt? Very well, let him wait.”

“ I cannot wait,” said a voice in the hall.

As he spoke, and disreg-arding orders, Craeke
rushed into the dr\ inof-room.

This almost forcible entrance was such an
infring-ement on the established rules of the house-
hold of Cornelius van Baerle that the latter, as he
saw Craeke come headlong into the room, con-
vulsively moved his hand which covered the bulbs,
so that two of them fell on the floor, one of them
rolling under a small table, and the other into the
fire-place.

The devil !” said Cornelius, eagerly stooping to
recover his priceless treasure; ‘‘what’s the matter,
Craeke?”

“The matter. Mynheer,” said Craeke, laying a
paper on the large table, on which the third bulb
was lying, “ the matter is that you are requested
to read this paper without losing one moment. ”

And Craeke, who thought he had remarked in the
streets of Dort symptoms of a tumult similar to that
which he had witnessed before his departure from
the Hague, ran off without even looking behind him.

“ All right, all right, my dear Craeke !” said Cor-
nelius, stretching his arm under the table for the
bulb; “ your paper shall be read, indeed it shall.”

Then, examining the bulb which he held in the
hollow of his hand, he said, “ Good ! here is one of
them uninjured. Thait confounded Craeke ! To
rush into my drying-room in that way ! Let us now
look after the other.”

And without laying down the bulb which he
already held, Baerle went to the fire-place, knelt
down, and stirred with the tip of his finger the
ashes, which fortunately were quite cold.

He at once felt the other bulb,

“Well, here it is,” he said. And looking at it
with almost fatherly affection, he exclaimed,
“ Uninjured, like the other!”

Acquaintance with Misfortune 67

^ And this very instant, and while Cornelius, still on
his knees, was examining the second bulb, the door
of the drying-room was so violently shaken, and
opened so unceremoniously immediately after, that
Cornelius felt rising in his cheeks and his ears the
glow of that evil counsellor which is called wrath.

“What is it now?’’ he demanded; “are people
going mad in this house?”

“Oh, Mynheer! Mynheer!” cried the servant,
rushing into the drying-room, with a much paler
face and much more "-’grieved mien than Craeke
had shown.

“Well!” asked Cornelius, foreboding some cata-
strophe from this double breach of all rules.

“Oh, Mynheer, fly! fly quickly!” cried the
servant.

“ Fly I what for?”

“ Ah, Mynheer! the house is full of guards of the
States, ’ ’

“ What do they want?”

“ They want you.”

“What for?”

“To arrest you.”

“ Arrest me ! arrest me, do you say?”

“ Yes, Mynheer, and they are led by a magis-
trate. ”

“ "What’s the meaning of all this?” said Van
Baerle, grasping in his hands the two bulbs, and
glrrci-'g in terror toward the staircase.

“ Tiicy are coming up! they are coming up!”
cried the servant.

“Oh, my dear child, my worthy master!” cried
the old nurse, who now likewise made her appear-
ance in the dr}dng-room, “ take your gold, your
jewelry, and fly, fly!”

“ But how shall I make my escape, nurse?” said
Van Baerle.

“ Jump out of the -window.”

“ Twenty-five feet from the ground?”

“ But you will fall on six feet of soft soil.”

“Yes, but I should fall on my tulips.’

“ Never mind, jump out !”

68 The Black Tulip

Cornelius took the third bulb, approached the
window, and opened it; but seeing- what havoc he
would necessarily cause in his beds rather than what
a heig-ht he would have to jump, he called out,
“ Never and fell back a step.

At this moment they saw through the banisters
of the staircase the points of the halberds of the
soldiers.

The housekeeper raised her hands supplicatingly
to heaven.

As to Cornelius van Baerle, it must be stated to
his honour, not as a man but as a tulip-fancier, that
his only thought was for his priceless bulbs.

Looking about for a paper in which to wrap them
up, he noticed the fly-leaf from the Bible, which
Craeke had laid upon the table, took it, without in
his confusion remembering whence it came, folded in
it the three bulbs, secreted them in his bosom, and
waited.

Forthwith soldiers, preceded by a magistrate,
entered the room.

Are you Dr. Cornelius van Baerle?’’ demanded
the rnagistrate (who, although knowing the young
man very well, put his questions according to the
forms of law, which gave his proceedings a much
more dignified air).

I am he, Master van Spennen,” answered Cor-
nelius, politely bowing to his judge, “ and you know
it very well. ”

“ Then give up to us the seditious papers which
you are secreting in your house.”

The seditious papers!” repeated Cornelius,
quite dumfounded at the imputation.

“ Oh, don’t pretend to be astonished !”

“ I swear, Master van Spennen,” Cornelius replied,
‘‘ that I am completely at a loss to understand what
you mean.”

Then I will put you on the right track, Doctor,”
said the judge; “ give up to us the papers which the
traitor Cornelius de Witt left with you in the month
of January last

A sudden light came into the mind of Cornelius.

Acquaintance with Misfortune 69

said Van Spennen, ‘‘you begin now to
rememberj do you not?’*

“ Indeed I do; but you spoke of seditious papers,
and I have none of that sort.’"

“You deny it, then?”

“ Certainly I do.”

The magistrate turned so as to take a rapid survey
of the whole cabinet.

“ Where is the apartment you call your drying-
room?” he asked.

“ The very same where you now are, Master van
Spennen.”

The magistrate cast a glance at a small note at the
top of his papers.

“ All right,” he said, like a man who is sure of his
ground.

Then, turning round toward Cornelius, he con-
tinued, “ Will you give up those papers to me?”

“But I cannot, Master van Spennen; those
papers do not belong to me; they were deposited
with me in trust, and a trust is sacred.”

“ Doctor Cornelius,” said the judge, “ in the
name of the States I order you to open this drawer
and to give up to me the papers w^-hich it contains.”

Saying this, the judge pointed with his finger to
the third drawer of the press near the fire-place.

In this very drawer, indeed, the papers deposited
by the Ruart de Pulten with his godson were lying,
— a proof that the police had received very exact
information.

“Ah, you will not !” said Van Spennen, when he
saw Cornelius standing immovable and bewildered ;
“ then I shall open the drawer myself.”

And pulling out the drawer to its full length, the
magistrate at first alighted on about twenty bulbs,
carefully arranged and ticketed, and then on the
paper parcel, which was in exactly the same state as
when it was delivered by the unfortunate Cornelius
de Witt to his godson.

The magistrate broke the seals, tore off the
envelope, cast an eager glance on the first leaves

70 The Black Tulip

which met his eye, and then exclaimed with a terrible
voice, —

‘'Well, justice has been rightly informed after
all!’’

“ How,*’ said Cornelius, ‘‘how is this?”

“ Make no further pretence of ignorance, Mynheer
van Baerle,” answered the magistrate, “ but follow
me.”

“ What ! follow you?” cried the Doctor.

“ Yes, for in the name of the States I arrest you.”

Arrests were not as yet made in the name of
William of Orange ; he had not been Stadtholder long
enough for that.

“Arrest me!” cried Cornelius, “what have I
done, pray?”

“That’s no affair of mine, Doctor; you will
explain ail that before your judges.”

“ Where?”

“ At the Hague.”

Cornelius, in mute stupefaction, embraced his old
nurse, who was in a swoon; shook hands with his
weeping servants, and followed the magistrate, by
whom he was put into a coach as a prisoner of State,
and was then driven at full speed to the Hague.

CHAPTER VIII

AN INVASION

The incident just related was, as the reader has
guessed before this, the infernal work of Mynheer
Isaac Boxtel,

It will be remembered that with the help of his
telescope not even the least detail of the private
meeting between Cornelius de Witt and Van Baerle
had escaped him ; that he had indeed heard nothing,
but had seen everything; and that he had rightly
concluded that the papers intrusted by the Ruart to
the Doctor must be of great importance, as he saw

An Invasion 7^

Van Baerle so carefully secretingf the parcel in the
drawer where he kept his most precious bulbs.

The upshot of all this was, that when Boxtel —
who watched the course of political events much
more attentively than did his neighbour Cornelius —
heard that the brothers De W'itt had been arrested on
a charge of high treason against the States, he
thought to himself that very likely he need only say
one word to cause the arrest of the godson as well
as the godfather.

Yet, happy as Boxtel was at the opportunity, he
at first shrank with horror from the idea of informing
against a man whom this information might lead to
the scaffold.

But the most terrible thing about wicked thoughts
is that evil minds soon grow familiar with them.

Moreover, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel encouraged him-
self with the following sophism, —

“ Cornelius de Witt must be a bad citizen, since
he is charged with high treason and arrested.

I, on the contrary, am a good citizen, since I am
not charged with anything in the world, and am as
free as the air of heaven.

** If, therefore, Cornelius de Witt is a bad citizen,
— of which there can be no doubt, since he is charged
with high treason and arrested, — ^his accomplice,
Cornelius van Baerle, must be no less a bad citizen
than himself.

‘‘ Therefore, since I am a good citizen, and since
it is the duty of every good citizen to inform against
the bad ones, it is my duty to inform against Cor-
nelius van Baerle.’’

Specious as this mode of reasoning was, it would
not perhaps have taken so complete a hold of Boxtel,
nor perhaps would the envious rascal have yielded to
the mere desire of vengeance which was gnaw I:. g at
his heart, had not the demon of envy been urged on
by the spur of cupidity.

Boxtel was quite aware of the progress which Van
Baerle had made toward producing the great black
tulip.

72 The Black Tulip

Dr. Cornelius, notwithstanding- all his modesty,
had not been able to hide from his most intimate
friends that he was all but certain to win, in the year
of grace 1673, the prize of a hundred thousand florins
offered by the Horticultural Society of Harlem.

It was just this almost certainty of Cornelius van
Baerle which caused the fever that raged in the heart
of Isaac BoxteL

If Cornelius should be arrested, there would neces-
sarily be great confusion in his house; and during
the night after his arrest, no one would think of
keeping watch over the tulips in his garden.

Now, during that night, Boxtel might climb over
the wall, and as he knew the location of the bulb
which was to produce the great black tulip, he would
filch it; and instead of flowering in Cornelius’s
garden, it would flower in his, Isaac’s. He also,
instead of Van Baerle, would win the prize of a
hundred thousand florins, not to speak of the
supreme honour of calling the new jfiower Tulipa
nigra Boxtellensis , — a result which would satisfy not
only his vengeance, but his cupidity as well.

Awake, he thought of nothing but the great black
tulip ; asleep, he dreamed of it.

At last, on the 19th of August, about two o^clock
in the afternoon, the temptation grew so strong that
Mynheer Isaac was no longer able to resist it.

Accordingly, he wrote an anonymous denunciation,
the minute exactness of which made up for its want
of authenticity, and put it in the post.

Never did a venomous paper, slipped into the jaws
of the bronze lions at Venice, produce a more prompt
and more terrible effect.

On the same evening the letter reached the prin-
cipal magistrate, who, without a moment’s delay,
called his ’C" to assemble the next morning.

On the following morning, therefore, they assembled,
and decided on Van Baerle ’s arrest, placing the order
for its execution in the hands of Master van Spennen,
who, as we have seen, performed his duty like a true
Hollander, and arrested the doctor at the very

An Invasion 73

moment when the Orange party at the Hague were
roasting the bleeding shreds of flesh torn from the
corpses of Cornelius and John de Witt.

But whether from a feeling of shame, or from
being still unused to crime, Isaac Boxtel did not
venture that day to point his telescope either at
the garden or at the laboratory or at the drying-
room.

He knew too well what was about to happen in
the home of the poor doctor to have any need to look
on. He did not even get up when his only servant
— who envied the lot of the servants of Cornelius just
as bitterly as Boxtel did that of their master — entered
his bedroom. He said to the man, —

^ ‘ I shall not get up to-day ; I am ill. ’ '

About nine o’clock he heard a great noise in the
street, which made him tremble ; at this moment he
was paler than a real invalid, and shook more
violently than a man in the height of fever.

His servant entered the room; Boxtel hid himself
under the counterpane.

‘‘Oh, Mynheer!” cried the servant, not without
some suspicion that, while deploring the mishap which
had befallen Van Baerle, he was announcing agree-
able news to his master, “ oh, you do not know then
what is happening at this moment?”

“ How do you suppose I am to know it?” answered
Boxtel, with an almost inaudible voice.

“ Well, Mynheer Boxtel, at this moment your
neighbour Cornelius van Baerle is being arrested for
high treason.”

“Nonsense!” Boxtel muttered, with a faltering
voice, “ the thing is impossible !”

“ Faith, sir, at any rate that’s what people say;
and, besides, I saw Judge van Spennen with the
archers entering the house.”

“ Ah, if you saw it with your own eyes that’s a
different matter rhc

“ At all events,” said the servant, ** I will go and
inquire once more. Never fear, Mynheer, I will
keep you posted.”

<74 The Black Tulip

Boxtel contented himself with e the

zeal of his servant with a gesture.

The man went out, and returned in half-an-hour.

Oh, Mynheer, all that I told you is indeed quite
true. ”

“ How so?’’

Mynheer van Baerle is arrested, and has been
put into a carriage, and hurried off to the Hague !”

“ To the Hague?”

*‘yes, to the Hague; and if what people say is
true, it won’t do him much good.”

“ And what do they say?” Boxtel asked.

“ Faith! they say — but it is not quite sure — that
by this hour the bur^^hers are probably murdering
Mynheer Cornelius and Mynheer John de Witt.”

“ Oh !” muttered Boxtel, with a noise in his throat
like a death-rattle, closing his eyes to shut out the
dreadful picture which presented itself to his imagin-
ation.

The devil 1” said the servant to himself, leaving
the room, “ Mynheer Isaac Boxtel must be very sick
not to have jumped out of bed on hearing such good
news.”

In reality, Isaac Boxtel was very sick, with a sick-
ness like that of a man who has murdered another.

But he had murdered his man with a double object ;
the first was attained, the second was still to be
attained.

Night closed in. It was night which Boxtel had
been waiting for.

As soon as it was dark he got up.

He then climbed into his sycamore.

He had judged rightly. No one thought of keep-
ing- watch over the garden ; the house and the
servants were in the utmost confusion.

He heard the clock strike ten, eleven, twelve.

At midnight, with a beating heart, trembling
hands, and a livid countenance, he descended from
the tree, took a ladder, leaned it against the wall,
mounted it to the last step but one, and listened.

Ail was perfectly quiet; not a sound broke the

An Invasion 75

silence of the nigfht. One solitary light was burn-
ing in the house; it was in the nurse’s room.

This silence and this darkness emboldened Boxtel ;
he got astride the wall, stopped for an instant, and,
having ascertained that there was nothing to fear,
he put his ladder from his own garden into that of
Cornelius, and descended. ^

Then, knowing to an inch where the bulbs which
were to produce the black tulip were planted, he
ran toward the spot, following, however, the walks
in order not to be betrayed by his footprints, and on
arriving at the precise spot, with the eagerness of a
tiger he plunged his hand into the soft ground.

He found nothing, and thought he was mistaken.

Meanwhile the perspiration stood in great beads
on his brow.

He felt about close by the spot — nothing.

He felt about to the right and to the left— nothing.

He felt about in front and * d i <

He was nearly mad when at last he could no longer
doubt that on that very morning the earth had been
turned.

In fact, while Boxtel was lying in bed, Cornelius
had gone down to his garden, had taken up the
mother bulb, and, as we have seen, divided it into
three.

Boxtel could not bring himself to leave the place.
He dug up with his hands more than ten square feet
of ground.

At last no doubt remained of his ill luck.

Mad with rage, he returned to his ladder, mounted
the wall, drew up the ladder, flung it into his own
garden, and jumped after it.

Ail at once a last ray of hope presented itself to
his mind : the seedling bulbs might be in the drying-
room; it was therefore only requisite to make his
entry there as he had done into the garden.

There he would find them; and, moreover, it was
not at all difficult, as the sashes of the drying-room
might be raised like those of a greenhouse. Cor-
nelius had opened them that morning, and no one
had thoug:ht of closing them again.

76 The Black Tulip

Everything, therefore, depended upon whether
Boxtel couM procure a ladder of sufBcient length, —
one of twenty feet instead of twelve.

He had noticed in the street where he lived a house
which was being repaired and against which a very
tall ladder was placed.

This ladder would do admirably, unless the work-
men had taken it aw'ay.

He ran to the house ; the ladder was there. Boxtel
took it, carried it with great exertion to his garden,
and with even greater difficulty raised it against the
wall of Van Baerle’s house, where it just reached to
the window.

Boxtel put a lighted dark lantern into his pocket,
mounted the ladder, and slipped into the drying-
room.

On reaching this sanctuary of the florist he
stopped, supporting himself against the table; his
legs failed him ; his heart beat as if It would choke
him. Here it was even worse than in the garden.
It would seem as if the open air added respectability
to ^l'ansgress;ons of the right of property ; a man who
would leap a hedge or climb a wall stops at the door
or window of a house.

In the garden Boxtel was only a trespasser; in
the room he was a thief.

However, he took courage again : he had not gone
so far to turn back empty-handed.

But in vain did he search the whole room, and
open and shut all the drawers, even that special one
where the parcel which had been so fatal to Cor-
nelius had been deposited ; he found ticketed, as in a
botanical garden, the Jane,’’ the John de Witt,”
the bistre, and the roasted-coffee-coloured tulip; but
of the black tulip, or rather of the seedling bulbs
within which it was still sleeping, not a trace was to
be found.

And yet, on looking over the register of seeds and
bulbs, which Van Baerle kept in duplicate, if possible
even with greater exactitude and care than the first
commercial houses of Amsterdam their ledgers, Boxtel

An Invasion 77

** On this 2oth of Aug-ust, 1672, I took up the mother bulb
of the great black tulip, which I have divided into three perfect
bulbs. ”

“Oh, those bulbs, those bulbs!’’ howled Boxtei,
turning* over everything^ in the dryingf-room ; “ where
can he have concealed them?”

Then suddenly striking his forehead a violent blow,
he shrieked, “ Oh, wretch that I am ! oh, thrice fool,
Boxtel ! Would any one be separated from his
bulbs? Would he leave them at Dort when he was
to go to the Hague? Could one live away from
one’s bulbs, when they are the bulbs of the great
black tulip? He had time to get hold of them, the
scoundrel; he has them about him, he has taken
them to the Hague !”

It was like a flash of lightning which showed to
Boxtel the abyss of a useless crime.

Boxtel sank quite paralyzed on that very table
and on that very spot where, some hours before, the
unfortunate Van Baerle had so leisurely and with
such intense delight contemplated the bulbs of the
black tulip.

“ But then, after all,” said the envious Boxtel,
raising his livid face, “if he has them he can keep
them only so long as he lives, and ”

The rest of this detestable thought was expressed
in a hideous smile.

“The bulbs must be at the Hague,” he said;
“therefore I can no longer live at Dort.

“ To the Hague for the bulbs, then ! to the
Hague!”

And without taking any notice of the immense
treasures about him, so entirely were his thoughts
absorbed by another inestimable treasure, he climbed
out of the window, glided down the ladder, carried it
back to the place whence he had taken it, and, like a
beast of prey, returned growling to his house.

78

The Black Tulip

CHAPTER IX

THE FAMILY CELL

It was about midnig-ht when poor Van Baerle was
locked up in the prison of the Buytenhof.

What Rosa foresaw had come to pass. On find-
ing the cell of Cornelius de Witt empty, the wrath
of the people ran very high, and had Gryphus fallen
into the hands of those madmen, he would certainly
have had to pay with his life for the prisoner.

But their wrath had been glutted by the vengeance
wreaked upon the two brothers when they were over-
taken by the murderers, thanks to the precaution
v/hich William — the man of precautions — had taken
in having the gates of the city closed.

There had been a moment, therefore, when the
prison was deserted, and dead silence succeeded the
frightful yelling and howling which had died away
in the distance.

Rosa availed herself of this favourable moment to
leave her hiding-place, followed by her father.

The prison was completely deserted, — for why
remain there while murder was being done at the
Tol-Hek?

Gryphus came forth trembling behind the courage-
ous Rosa. They went to close the great door as far
as they could close it; that is to say, considering
that it was half demolished. It was easy to see that
a flood of resistless wrath had vented itself upon it.

About four o’clock the uproar was heard return-
ing, but it contained nothing to alarm Gryphus and
his daughter. It was only the noise made by the
two dead bodies which the mob were dragging along
with the purpose of hanging them at the usual place
of execution.

Rosa hid herself again, but only that she might
not see the ghastly spectacle.

At midnight there was a knocking at the door of

The Family Cell 79

the Buytenhof, or rather at the barricade which
served in its stead.

It was Cornelius van Baerle who was being*
brought in.

When Gryphus received this new inmate, and read
in the warrant the name and station of his prisoner,
he muttered with his professional smile, —

‘‘Godson of Cornelius de Witt! Well, young
man, we have your family cell here, and you shall
have it.**

Ciuickllng over his own joke, the ferocious Orange-
man took his lantern and his keys to conduct Cor-
nelius to the cell which on that very morning Cor-
nelius de Witt had left to go into “ exile,** as exile
is understood in times of revolution by those sublime
moralists who lay it down as an axiom of lofty
policy, —

“ It is the dead only who do not return. **

On his way to that cell the disconsolate florist heard
nothing but the barking of a dog and saw nothing but
the face of a young girl.

The dog rushed forth from a niche in the wall,
rattling his heavy chain, and took a thorough sniff
at Cornelius in order that he might be more certain
to recognize him, in case he should be put upon his
trail.

The young girl, while the prisoner was making the
stair-rail groan under his heavy hand, half opened
the door of a chamber occupied by her on the landing
of the same staircase; and holding the lamp in her
right hand, she at the same time lit up her pretty
blooming face, surrounded by a profusion of golden
locks in thick braids, while with her left she held her
white night-dress closely over her breasit, having
been roused from her first slumber by the unexpected'
arrival of Van Baerle.

It would have made a fine picture, worthy of
Master Rembrandt*s pencil, — the gloomy winding
stairs illuminated by the reddish glare of Gryphus ’s.
lantern, with his scowding visage at the top; the
melancholy features of Cornelius bending over the,

8o The Black Tulip

banister to look; and below him the sweet face of
Rosa, against the background of her lighted room,
and her modest instinctive movement, rendered some-
what ineffectual perhaps by Cornelius’s advantageous
position, standing on the stairs above, whence his
gaze fell tenderly and sadly upon the fair, beautifully-
moulded shoulders of the damsel.

And farther down, quite in the shade, where the
darkness blotted out the details of the picture, were
the glistening eyes of the mastiff, who was rattling
his chain, whose links the double light from Rosa’s
lamp and Gryphus’s lantern made to shine like gold
spangles.

* But the sublime master could never have succeeded
in depicting the sorrow expressed in Rosa’s face
when she saw this pale, handsome young man slowly
climbing the stairs, and applied to him the words
which her father had just spoken, You shall have
the family cell.^^

This vision lasted but a moment, — ^much less time
than we have taken to describe it. Gryphus then
proceeded on his way. Cornelius was forced to
follow him, and five minutes later he entered his cell,
which it is unnecessary to describe, as the reader is
already acquainted with it.

Gryphus pointed with his finger to the bed which
had witnessed the bitter suffering of the martyr who
on that very day had gone to meet his Maker. Then
taking up his lantern he left the cell.

Thus left alone, Cornelius threw himself on his
bed, but he could not sleep; he kept his eye fixed on
the narrow window, barred with iron, which looked
on the square of the Buytenhof, — and thus he saw,
above the trees, the first pale ray of dawn fall from
heaven over the earth like a white mantle.

Now and then, during the night, horses had
galloped at a smart pace through the square, the
heavy tramp of the patrols had resounded on the
pavement, and the matches of the c'rqiicbnscs, flaring
in the west wind, had intermittently lighted up his
window.

8i

The Family Cell

But when the rising sun began to gild the roofs of
the houses, Cornelius, eager to know whether there
was any living creature in his vicinity, approached
the window and looked gloomily around.

At the end of the square a dark mass, whose black-*
ness was hardly relieved by the morning light, rose
before him, its irregular outlines standing out in con-
trast to the lighter-hued houses.

Cornelius recognized the gibbet.

On it were suspended two shapeless masses, which
were no more than bleeding trunks.

The good people of the Hague had chopped off
great pieces of the flesh of their victims, but faith-
fully carried the remainder to the gibbet, in order
to have an excuse for a double inscription, written on
a huge placard, on which Cornelius, with the keen
sight of a young man of twenty-eight, was able to
read the following lines, daubed by the coarse brush
of a sign-painter : —

Here hang the great villain named John de Witt, and the
little rogue Cornelius de Witt, his brother, who were enemies
of the people, but great friends of the king of France.”

Cornelius uttered a cry of horror, and in an agony
of almost delirious terror beat upon his door with
hands and feet so violently and imperatively that
Gryplius, with his bunch of huge keys in his hand,
came running up in a rage.

He opened the door, with terrible imprecations
against the prisoner who disturbed him at an houi
at which he was not in the habit of being disturbed.

‘‘ Upon my soul, I believe this new De Witt is
insane,’^ he cried; ** but all those De Witts have the
devil in them.’’

Master, master,” cried Cornelius, seizing the
jailer by the arm and dragging him toward the
window, “ master, what’s that I read down there?”

Where do you mean?”

“ On that placard. ”

Trembling, pale, and gasping for breath, he pointed
to the gibbet, with the cynical inscription surmount-
ing it, at the farther end of the square.

G

82 The Black Tulip

Gryphus began to laugh*

“ Ha! ha!*' he retorted, “so you have read it,
have you? Well, my good sir, that's what people
get for corresponding with the enemies of his High-
ness the Prince of Orange.”

“The brothers De Witt murdered!” Cornelius
muttered, with beads of sweat on his brow; and he
sank upon his bed, his arms hanging by his side, and
his eyes closed.

“ The brothers De Witt have undergone the
sentence of the people,” said Gryphus; “you call
that murdered, do you? Well, I call it executed.”

And seeing that the prisoner had not only become
calm, but was apparently quite overcome by the
discovery he had made, he rushed from the cell,
violently slamming the door and noisily drawing the
bolts.

When he came to himself, Cornelius found himself
alone, and recognized the fact that the room where
he was — “the family cell” as Gryphus had called
it — ^was likely to be but a stopping-place on his
journey to an ignominious death.

And as he was a philosopher, and more than that,
a Christian, he began by praying for the soul of his
godfather, then for that of the Grand Pensionary, and
at last submitted with resignation to all the sufferings
to which God might be pleased to subject him.

Then turning once more from thoughts of Heaven
to earthly matters, and having brought his mind back
into his dungeon and satisfied himself that he was
alone therein, he drew from his breast the three bulbs
of the black tulip, and concealed them behind a block
of stone, on which the traditional water-jug was
standing, in the darkest corner of his cell.

Useless labour of so many years ! Such sweet
hopes crushed ! His great discovery was, after all,
to lead to nought, just as his own career was to end
in premature death. Here, in his prison, there was
not a trace of vegetation, not an atom of soil, not a
ray of sunshine.

At this thought Cornelius fell into a gloomy de-

The Jailer’s Daughter 83

spair, from which he was roused only by an extra-
ordinary circumstance.

What was this circumstance?

With the reader^s permission, we will reserve that
information for the following chapter.

CHAPTER X

THE jailer's daughter

ON^the evening of that day, Gryphus, as he was
bringing the prisoner’s scanty meal, slipped on the
damp flags in opening the door of the cell, and fell
in the attempt to recover himself. His hand turned
the wrong way, and he broke his arm just above the
wrist.

Cornelius made a movement to assist him; but
Gryphus, who was not yet aware of the serious nature
of his injury, called out to him, —

^Mt is nothing; don’t you stir!”

He then tried to support himself on his arm, but
the bone gave way ; then he felt the pain, and uttered
a sharp cry.

He knew that his arm must be broken; and this
man, so harsh in his treatment of others, fell swoon-
ing on the threshold, where he remained motionless
and cold, as if dead.

During all this time the door of the cell stood open,
and Cornelius found himself almost free. But the
thought never entered his mind of profiting by this
accident. He had seen from the manner in which the
arm was bent, and from the noise it made in bending,
that the bone was fractured, and that the patient
must be in great pain ; and now he thought of nothing
but administering relief to the sufferer, notwithstand-
ing the evil disposition the man had shown during
their short interview.

At the noise of Gryphus ’s fall, and at the cry which
escaped him, a hasty step was heard on the staircase.

84 The Black Tulip

and at sight of the lovely apparition which fallowed
the footfall, Cornelius uttered an exclamation which
was echoed by the shriller tones of a young girl.

She who thus echoed Cornelius's cry was the
beautiful young Frisian, who, seeing her father
stretched on the ground and the prisoner bending
over him, thought at first that Gryphus, whose
brutality she well knew, had fallen in a struggle
between himself and the prisoner.

Cornelius understood what was passing in the mind
of the girl as soon as the thought came to her.

But she saw the true state of the case at a glance,
and, ashamed of her first thoughts, she raised her
beautiful eyes, wet with tears, to the young man,
and said to him, —

‘‘ I beg your pardon, and thank you, Mynheer, —
pardon for what I have thought, and thanks for what
you are doing.”

Cornelius blushed.

I am but doing my duty as a Christian,” said he,
“ in helping my /y/ ’) ‘ .”

“Yes, and while you help him this evening, you
forget the abuse which he heaped on you this morn-
ing. Oh, Mynheer, this is more than human ; it is
more than Christian !”

Cornelius cast his eyes on the beautiful maid,
marvelling much to hear from the mouth of one so
humbly born such a noble and feeling* speech.

But he had no time to express his surprise. Gryphus
recovered from his swoon, opened his eyes, and as his
accustomed brutality returned with his return to con-
sciousness, he growled, “That’s it! if one is in a
hurry to bring a prisoner his supper, and in his hurry
falls and breaks his arm, he is left lying on the
ground. ”

“Hush, father,” said Rosa, “you are unjust to
this young gentleman, whom I found trying to help
you. ’ ’

“He I” Gryphus rejoined, with a doubtful air.

“ It is quite true. Mynheer; and I am quite ready
to help you still more. ”

The Jailer’s Daughter 85

You r' said Gryphus, are you a medical man?’’

It was formerly my profession.”

“ So that you would be able to set my arm?”

Perfectly.”

What would you need for that purpose?”

‘‘Two splinters of wood merely, and some linen
for a bandage.”

“ Do you hear, Rosa?” said Gryphus, “ the
prisoner is going to set my arm, that’s a saving.
Come, help me to get up; I feel as heavy as lead. ”

Rosa lent the sufferer her shoulder; he put his
unhurt arm round her neck, and with an effort got on
his legs, while Cornelius, to save his steps, pushed
a chair towards him.

Gryphus sat down; then, turning towards his
daugiiter, he said, —

“ Well, didn’t you hear? Go and get what is
wanted.”

Rosa left the room, and immediately after returned
with two barrel staves and a large roll of linen.

Cornelius had made use of the intervening moments
to take off the man’s coat, and to turn back his shirt-
sleeve.

“Is this all that you need, Mynheer?” asked Rosa.

“Yes, my child,” answered Cornelius, looking at
the things which she had brought; “ yes, that’s right.
Now, push this table under, while I support your
father’s arm.”

Rosa pushed the table, Cornelius placed the broken
arm on it, in order to have it level, and with perfect
skill set the bone, adjusted the splinters, and fastened
the bandages.

As the last pin was inserted, the jailer fainted a
second time.

“ Go and get some vinegar, my dear,” said Cor-
nelius; “ we will bathe his temples, and he will soon
come to.”

But instead of doing as he suggested, Rosa, after
having assured herself that her father was still un-
conscious, approached Cornelius and said, —

“ One good turn deserves another, Mynheer.”

86 The Black Tulip

What do you mean, my dear?” asked Cornelius,

“ I mean to say that the judge who is to examine
you to-morrow has inquired to-day about the room in
which you are confined; he was told that you were
occLirylng the cell of Mynheer Cornelius de Witt, and
at that reply he laughed in a sinister way, which
makes me fear that no good fortune awaits you. ”

But,” asked Cornelius, what harm can they do
to me?”

“ Look at that gibbet !”

But I am not guilty,” said Cornelius.

“ Were they guilty whom you see down there, —
hanged and -i'rii-'giccL and torn to pieces?”

‘‘ That’s true,” said Cornelius, gravely.

“ xA.nd besides,” continued Rosa, ‘‘public opinion
has adjudged you guilty. But whether innocent or
guilty, your trial begins to-morrow, and the day after
you will be condemned. Matters are settled very
quickly in these times.”

“•Well, and what do you conclude from all
this?”

“ I conclude that I am alone, that I am weak,
that my father is lying in a swoon, that the dog is
muzzled, and that consequently there is nothing to
prevent you making your escape. Fly, then, — that is
my conclusion.”

“ What do you say?”

“ I say that I was not able to save Mynheer Cor-
nelius or Mynheer John de Witt, alas ! and that I
should like to save you. Only be quick; there, my
father is regaining his breath. One minute more,
and he will open his eyes, and it will be too late. Do
you hesitate?”

In fact, Cornelius stood immovable, looking at
Rosa, 3^et looking at her as if he did not hear her.

“ Don’t you understand me?” said the young girl,
with some impatience.

“Yes, I do,” said Cornelius, “ but ”

“ But what?” ^

“ I will not do it; they would accuse you.”

“ What does that matter?” said Rosa, blushing.

The Jailer’s Daughter 87

“ I am very grateful to you, my dear child,’* replied
Cornelius ; ‘‘ but I prefer to remain.”

‘‘You prefer to remain! alas, alas! don’t you
understand that you will be condemned, — condemned
to death, executed on the scaffold, perhaps assassin-
ated and torn to pieces, just as Mynheer John and
Mynheer Cornelius were? For Heaven’s sake don’t
think of me, but fly from this room ! Take care ! it
is an ill-omened spot for all who love the name of
DeWitt!”

“ Halloa!” cried the jailer, recovering his senses,
“ who is that talking of those rogues, those wretches,
those villains, the De Witts?”

“ Don’t get excited, my good man,” said Cor-
nelius, with a sweet smile; “ the worst thing in the
world for a fracture is to allow the blood to get
heated. ”

Thereupon, he said in an undertone to Rosa : “ My
child, I am innocent, and I shall await my trial with
the tranquillity and calmness befitting an innocent
man. ”

“ Hush !” said Rosa.

“Why hush?”

“ My father must not suppose that we have been
talking to each other.”

“ What harm would that do?”

“ What harm? He would never allow me to come
here any more,” was the maiden’s ingenuous reply.

Cornelius received this naive explanation with a
smile ; it seemed as if a ray of light were breaking in
upon his misery.

“ Now, then, what are you two chattering about
there?” said Gryphus, rising and supporting his right
arm with his left hand.

“ Nothing,” said Rosa; “ Mynheer is explaining to
me what diet you must adopt.”

“What diet I must adopt? Diet! diet I Well,
young woman, I shall put you on diet too.”

. “ What will mine be, father?”

‘ ‘ To keep away from the cells of the prisoners ;
and if ever you should happen to visit them, to leave

88 The Black Tulip

again as soon as possible. Come now, go on ahead
of me, and be quick.

Rosa and Cornelius exchanged glances.

That of Rosa seemed to say, —

There, you see how it is !’^

While Cornelius’s look of resignation replied. —

“ The Lord’s will be done !”

CHAPTER XI

CORNELIUS VAN BAERLE’S WILL

Rosa was not mistaken; the judges came on the
following day to the Buytenhof, and interrogated
Cornelius van Baerle. The examination, however,
did not last long, for it was easily made to appear
that Cornelius had kept at his house the fatal corre-
spondence of the brothers De Witt with France.

He did not deny it.

The only point about which the judges seemed to
have any doubt was whether this correspondence had
been entrusted to him by his godfather Cornelius de
Witt.

But since the death of those two martyrs, Van
Baerle had no longer any reason for withholding the
truth; therefore he not only did not deny that the
parcel had been delivered to him by Cornelius de
Witt himself, but he also stated all the circumstances
under which it was done.

This confession involved the godson in the crime
of the godfather; for it was argued that there was
manifest complicity between Cornelius de Witt and
Cornelius van Baerle.

The honest doctor did not confine himself to this
avowal, but told the whole truth with regard to his
own tastes, habits, and daily life. He told of his
indifference to politics, his love of study, of the fine
arts, of science, and of flowers. He declared that
since the day when Cornelius de Witt came to Dort

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 8g

and handed him the parcel, he himself had never
touched or even noticed it.

To this it was objected that in this respect he could
not possibly be speaking the truth, since the papers
had been deposited in a drawer in which he used to
plunge his hands and his eyes every day.

Cornelius answered that it was indeed so; but that
he never put his hand into the drawer save to ascer-
tain whether his bulbs were dry, and that he never
looked into it save to see if they were beginning to
sprout.

To this again it was obj'ected that his pretended
indifference respecting this deposit was not to be
reasonably entertained, as he could not have received
such papers from the hand of his godfather without
being made acquainted with their important char-
acter.

He replied that his godfather loved him too well,
and, above all, that he was too considerate a man, to
have communicated to him anything of the contents
of the parcel, well knowing that such a confidence
would only have caused anxiety to him who received
it.

To this it was objected that if De Witt had done
what he alleged, he would have added to the parcel,
in case of accident, a certificate setting forth that his
godson was an entire stranger to the nature of this
correspondence; or at least he would, during his trial,
have written a letter to him which might serve to
justify him.

Cornelius replied that undoubtedly his godfather
had not thought that his parcel was in any danger,
hidden as it was in a press which was held in as deep
veneration as the Ark of the Covenant by the whole
Van Baerle household; and that, consequently, he
had considered such a certificate useless. As to a
letter, he certainly had some remembrance that some
moments previous to his arrest, while he was
absorbed in the contemplation of one of the rarest of
his bulbs, John de Witt’s servant entered his drying-
room and handed him a paper ; but the whole was to

90 The Black Tulip

him only like a vague dream. The servant had dis^
appeared, and as to the paper, perhaps it might be
found, if a proper search were made.

As far as Craeke was concerned, it was impossible
to find him, as he had left Holland.

As to the paper, there was so little probability of
finding it that no one gave himself the trouble to look
for it.

Cornelius himself did not much press this point,
because even if the paper should turn up, it could not
have any connection with the correspondence which
constituted the corpus delicti.

The judges wished to appear in the light of urging
Cornelius to make a more vigorous defence than he
was doing; and so they displayed that benevolent
patience which is the clist'.rigjisliing mark either of a
magistrate who is interested for the prisoner, or of a
victor who has overthrown his adversary, and has so
completely made himself master that he has no need
of further severity to complete his destruction.

Cornelius did not respond to this hypocritical pre-
tence of impartiality ; and in a last answer, which he
made with the noble bearing of a martyr and the
calm serenity of an innocent man, he said, —

“ You ask me things, gentlemen, to which I have
no other reply to make than the exact truth. This is
the exact truth. The parcel was put into my hands
in the way I have described; I declare, before God,
that I was, and am still, ignorant of its contents, and
that it was not until my arrest that I learned that this
parcel contained the correspondence of the Grand
Pensionary with the Marquis de Louvois. And lastly,

I protest that I do not understand how any one should
have known that this parcel was in my house; and,
above all, how I can be deemed guilty for having
received what my illustrious and unfortunate god-
father brought to me/’

This was Van Baerle’s whole defence. The judges
then began their deliberations.

They considered that every offshoot of civil dis-
cord is to be deplored, because it adds fresh fuel

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 91

to the flame which it is the interest of all to ex-
tinguish.

One of them (and he bore the character of a pro-
found observer) maintained that this young man, so
'-it'c in appearance, might well be a very
dangerous subject in reality, for beneath his cloak of
impassibility he was very likely to conceal an ardent
desire to revenge his friends the De Witts.

Another observed that the love of tulips was per-
fectly consistent with politics, and that history demon-
strates that many very dangerous traitors had been
engaged in gardening, just as if it had been their
profession, while really they were intent upon alto-
gether different matters. Witness Tarquin the Elder,
who grew poppies at Gabii, and the Great Conde,
who watered his carnations at the castle of Vincennes,
at the very moment when the former was meditating
his return to Rome, and the latter his escape from
prison.

This last speaker concluded with the following
dilemma : —

“ Either Cornelius van Baerle is a great lover of
tulips or a great lover of politics ; in either case he lias
told us a falsehood, — first, because his taking an
interest in politics is proved by the letters which were
found at his house ; and secondly, because his passion
for tulips is also proved. The bulbs fully establish
that fact. Finally, and herein lies the enormity of
the case, since Cornelius van Baerle devotes himself
to tulips and to politics at one and the same time, he
must be of a hybrid character, of an amphibious
organization, working with equal ardour at politics
and at tulips, — ^which demonstrates the existence in
him of all the characteristics of the class of men most
dangerous to public tranquillity, and establishes a
certain, or rather a complete, analogy between his
character and that of those master minds, of which
Tarquin the Elder and the Great Cond6 have been but
now felicitously quoted as examples/'

The upshot of all these reasonings was that his
Highness, the Prince Stadtholder of Holland, would

92 The Black Tulip

doubtless feel infinitely obliged to the magistracy of
the Hague, if they simplified for him the government
of the Seven Provinces by destroying even the least
germ of conspiracy against his authority.

This argument capped all the others ; and in order
so much the more effectually to destroy the germ of
conspiracy, sentence of death was unanimously pro-
nounced against Cornelius van Baerle, accused and
convicted of having, under the innocent guise of a
tulip-fancier, participated in the detestable intrigues
and abominable plots of the brothers De Witt against
Dutch nationality, and in their secret relations with
their French enemy.

The sentence went on to say that the aforesaid
Cornelius van Baerle shall be led from the prison of
the Buytenhof to the scaffold in the square of the same
name, where his head shall be cut off by the public
executioner.’’

As this deliberation was a most serious affair, it
lasted a full half-hour, during which the prisoner was
remanded to his cell.

There the Recorder of the States came to read the
sentence to him.

Master Gryphus was detained in bed by the fever
caused by the fracture of his arm. His keys had
passed into the hands of one of his assistants. Behind
this turnkey, who led the way before the Recorder,
Rosa, the fair Frisian maid, had slipped into the
recess of the door, with a handkerchief to her mouth
to stifle her sighs and her sobs.

Cornelius listened to the sentence with an expres-
sion rather of surprise than sadness.

After the sentence was read, the Recorder asked
him whether he had anything to answer.

Indeed I have not,” he replied. ** Only I con-
fess that among all the causes of death which a
cautious man should foresee so that he may guard
against them, I never have thought of this.”

Thereupon the Recorder saluted Van Baerle with
all that consideration which such functionaries gener-
ally bestow upon great criminals of every sort.

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 93

As he was taking his leave, Cornelius asked, By
the way, what day will the sentence be carried out,
please?''

Why, to-day," answered the Recorder, some-
what oppressed by the self-possession of the con-
demned man,

A sob VJQ.S. heard behind the door.

Cornelius turned to see whence it came; but Rosa
had foreseen such a movement and had fallen back.

“ What hour is appointed?" continued Cornelius.

" Twelve o'clock, Mynheer."

‘‘The devil!" exclaimed Cornelius. “ I think
I heard the clock strike ten about twenty minutes
ago : I have not much time to spare. ' ’

“ Indeed you have not, if you wish to make your
peace with God," said the Recorder, bowing to the
ground. “You may ask for any clergyman you
please. ' ’

Saying these words he backed himself out ; and the
substitute jailer was about to follow him and lock
the door of Cornelius's cell, when a white, trembling
arm was interposed between him and the heavy
door.

Cornelius saw only the golden-brocade cap, daintily
trimmed with white lace, — a head-dress peculiar to
lovely Frisian damsels; he heard nothing but some
one whispering into the ear of the turnkey. But the
latter put his heavy keys into the while hand which
was stretched out to receive them, and descending a
few steps, sat down on the staircase, — which thus
was guarded above by himself, and below by the dog.
The cap turned round, and Cornelius beheld the face
of Rosa, moist with tears, and her beautiful blue
eyes streaming with them.

She went up to Cornelius, folding her arms on her
heaving breast.

“Alas, Mynheer! alas!" she sobbed, but could
say no more.

My good girl," Cornelius replied with emotion ^
“what do you wish? I tell you frankly that my
power and influence are very limited henceforth.’'

94 The Black Tulip

I come to ask a favour of you,” said Rosa, ex-
tending her hands partly toward him and partly
toward heaven.

Don^t weep so, Rosa,” said the prisoner, “for
your tears move me much more deeply than my
approaching fate; and you know the less guilty a
prisoner is, the more incumbent is it upon him to die
calmly, and even joyfully, as he dies a martyr. So
weep no more, and tell me what you desire, my pretty
Rosa.”

She knelt at his feet. “ Forgive my father,” she
said.

“ Your father I” said Cornelius, in amazement.

^ ‘ Yes ; he has been so harsh to you. But it is his
nature; he is so to every one, and you are not the
only one whom he has bullied. ’ '

“ He is punished, my dear Rosa, more than enough,
by the accident that has befallen him ; and I forgive
him.”

“ I thank you,” said Rosa. “ And now tell me —
oh, pray tell me — can I do nothing for you in return ?”

“ You can dry your beautiful eyes, my dear child,”
answered Cornelius, with a gentle smile.

“ But for you, — for you?”

‘ ' A man who has only one hour longer to live must
be a great Sybarite still to want anything, my dear
Rosa.”

“ The clergyman whom they have proposed to
you?”

“ I have worshipped God all my life; I have wor-
shipped Him in His works, and blessed His will. He
can have nothing against me, and so I do not wish for
a clergyman. The last thought which occupies my
mind, however, has reference to the glory of the
Almighty. Help me, my dear, I beseech you, in carry-
ing out my last thought.”

“Oh, Mynheer Cornelius, speak, speak!” ex-
claimed Rosa, still bathed in tears.

“ Give me your fair hand, and promise not to
laugh, my dear child.”

“ Laugh i” exclaimed Rosa, despairingly, — “ laugh,

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 95

at such a moment ! You cannot have looked at me^
Mynheer Cornelius/^

“ I have looked at you, Rosa, both with my bodily
eyes and with the eyes of my soul. I have never seen
a woman more fair or more pure than you are, and if
from this moment I take no more notice of you, for-
give me; it is only because, being ready to leave this
world, I prefer to do so without regret.*’

Rosa started in alarm. As the prisoner pronounced
these words, the belfry clock of the Buytenhof struck
eleven.

Cornelius understood her. ‘‘Yes, yes, let us make
haste,” he said; “ you are right, Rosa.”

Then taking the paper with the three bulbs from his
breast, where he had again put it since he had no
longer any fear of being searched, he said, —

“ My dear girl, I have been very fond of flowers.
That was at a time when I did not know that there
was anything else to be loved. Don’t blush, Rosa,
nor turn away, even though I should make you a
declaration of love. Alas, poor dear I it would be of
no consequence; down there in the square there is a
certain keen blade which in sixty minutes will punish
my boldness. Well, Rosa, I loved flowers dearly,
and I have found — or at least I believe so — ^thc secret
of the great black tulip, which it has been considered
impossible to grow, and for which, as you may or
may not know, a prize of a hundred thousand florins
has been offered by the Horticultural Society of
Harlem. These hundred thousand florins — and
Heaven knows they are not my only subject of regret
— these hundred thousand florins I have here in this
paper; for they are won by the three bulbs wrapped
up in it, — ^which you may take, Rosa, for I make you
a present of them.”

“ Mynheer Cornelius !”

“Yes, yes, Rosa, you may take them ; you are not
wronging any one, my child. I am alone in this
world. My parents are dead ; I never had a sister or
a brother; I have never had a thought of loving any
one with what is called love, and if any one has ever

96 The Black Tulip

thoug-ht of loving me, I have not known it. More-
over, you can see well, Rosa, that I am abandoned by
everybody, since at this moment you alone are with
me in my prison, consoling and assisting me. ’’

“ But, Mynheer, a hundred thousand florins
Well, let us talk seriously, my dear child. Those
hundred thousand florins will be a nice marriage-
portion to go with your pretty face; you shall have
them, for I am quite sure of my bulb. You shall have
them, Rosa, dear Rosa, and I ask nothing in return
but your promise that you will marry some worthy
fellow, not too old, whom you love, and who will love
you as dearly as I loved my flowers. Don’t interrupt
me. Rosa, — I have only a few minutes more. ”

The poor girl was nearly choking with her sobs.

Cornelius took her hand.

Listen to me,” he continued; this is what you
must do. Take some earth from my garden at Dort.
Ask Butruysheim, my gardener, for some soil from
my bed number six ; fill a deep box with it, and plant
in it these three bulbs. They will flower next May, —
that is to say, in seven months ; and when you see the
flower forming on the stem, be careful at night to pro-
tect them from the wind and by day to screen them
from the sun. They will bear a black flower; I am
quite sure of it. You must at once inform the
President of the Harlem Society. He will cause
the colour of the flower to be declared by the com-
mittee, and the hundred thousand florins will be paid
to you.”

Rosa heaved a deep sigh.

“And now,” continued Cornelius, wiping away a
tear which was g-l'atcn'pg in his eye, and which was
shed much more fer that mar-T‘Iio..is black tulip which
he was not to see than for the life which he was about
to lose, “ I desire 1 except that the tulip

should be called ‘ sosa — that is to say,

that its name should combine yours and mine ; and as,
of course, you do not understand Latin, and might
therefore forget this name^ try to get me a pencil and
paper, so that I may write it down for you. ”

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 97

Rosa sobbed afresh, and handed him a book, bound
in scagT^'en, which bore the initials C. W.

“ VVhat is this?*’ asked the prisoner,

“ Alas !” replied Rosa, “it is the Bible of your
poor g-odfather, Cornelius de Witt. From it he
derived strength to endure the torture, and to hear
his sentence without flinching. I found it in this
cell, after the martyr’s death, and have preserved it
as a relic. To-day I brought it to you, for it seemed
to me that this book must possess in itself a divine
power. But Gk)d be praised ! you needed no strength
beyond what He has given you. Write in it what
you have to write, Mynheer Cornelius ; and though,
unfortunately, I am not able to read, I will take care
that what you write shall be attended to. ’ ’

Cornelius took the Bible, and kissed it reverently.

“ With what shall I write?’* he asked.

“ There is a pencil in the Bible,” said Rosa,* “ I
found it there, and let it remain.”

This was the pencil which John de Witt had lent
to his brother, and which he had forgotten to take
back.

Cornelius took it, and on the second fly-leaf (for it
will be remembered that the first was torn out), like
his godfather, with death at hand, he wrote no less
firmly : —

On this 23rd of August, 1672, being about to render my soul
to God on the scaffold, although I am guiltless in His sight, I
bequeath to Rosa Gryphus the only property which remains
to me of all that I have possessed in this world, the rest hav-
ing been confiscated : I bequeath, I say, to Rosa Gryphus three
bulbs, which I am convinced must produce in the ensuing
month of May the great black tulip, for which a prize of a
hundred thousand florins has been offered by the Harlem
Society, — ^requesting that she may be paid the said sum in my
stead, as my sole heiress, upon the sole conditions that she
marry some respectable young man of about my age, who loves
her, and whom she loves, and that she give the great black
tulip, which will constitute a new species, the name of “ Rosa
Barlaensis;” that is to say, hers and mine combined.

So may God grant me mercy, and to her, health and long
life.

Cornelius van Baerle.

H

98 The Black Tulip

Then, giving- the Bible to Rosa, he said, —

“ Read.’’

“ Alas 1” she answered, ‘‘ I have already told you
I cannot read.”

.Cornelius then read to Rosa the will that he had
just made.

The sobs of the poor girl redoubled.

“Do you accept my conditions?” asked the
prisoner, with a melancholy smile, kissing the
trembling hands of the lovely maiden.

“ Oh, I don’t know, Mynheer,” she stammered.

“ You don’t know, child, — and why not?”

“ Because there is one condition which I am
afraid I cannot keep.”

^ ‘ Which ? I thought that all was settled between
us.”

“ You give me the hundred thousand florins as a
.‘'■I.' do you not?”

( . n • I

i c^.

“ Upon condition that I marry a man whom I
love?”

“ Certainly.”

“ Well, then, Mynheer, this money cannot belong
to me. I shall never love any one; neither shall I
marry.”

Having with difliculty uttered these words, Rosa
sank upon her knees and almost swooned in the
violence of her grief.

Cornelius, frightened at seeing her so pale and
lifeless, was about to take her in his arms, when a
heavy step, accompanied by other ominous sounds,
was heard on the staircase, amid the continued bark-
ing of the dog.

“ They are coming to take you away ! Oh, God !
Oh, God I” cried Rosa, wringing her hands. “ Have
you nothing more to tell me?”

Again she fell on her knees, with her face buried
in her hands, weeping copiously, and sobbing as if
her heart would break.

“ I have only to say that I wish you to preserve
these bulbs as a most precious treasure, and care-

Cornelius Van Baerle’s Will 99

fully to treat them according to the directions I have
given you, and for love of me. And now, farewell,
Rosa. ’ ’

‘‘Yes, yes,’’ she said, without raising her head;
“ oh, yes, I will do anything you bid me — except
marrying,” she added in a low voice, “ for that, oh,
indeed ! that is impossible for me.”

She then hid Cornelius’s cherished treasure in her
bosom.

The noise on the staircase which Cornelius and
Rosa had heard was caused by the Recorder, who
was coming for the prisoner, followed by the execu-
tioner, by the soldiers who were to form the guard
round the scaffold, and by some curious ' ^

of the prison.

Cornelius, as free from w^eakness as from
bravado, received them rather as friends than as
persecutors, and quietly submitted to all the con-
ditions which these men in the performance of their
duty saw fit to impose.

Then casting a glance into the square through his
narrow iron-barred window, he perceived the scaf-
fold, and twenty paces from it the gibbet, from
which, by order of the Stadtholder, the outraged
remains of the two brothers De Witt had been taken
down.

When the moiment came to follow the guards
down to the square, Cornelius sought with his eyes
Rosa’s angelic face ; but he saw, behind the swords
and halberds, only a form lying outstretched near a
wooden bench, and a death-like face half covered
with long golden locks.

But as she fell senseless, Rosa, still true to her
friend’s behest, had pressed her hand on her velvet
bodice, and even in her unconsciousness instinctively
grasped the precious package which Cornelius had
entrusted to her care.

Leaving the cell, the young man could still see
in the convulsively-clenched fingers of Rosa the
yellowish leaf from that Bible on which Cornelius de
Witt had with such difficulty and pain written those

loo The Black Tulip

few lines, which, if Van Baerle had^ read themi
would undoubtedly have been the salvation of a man
and a tulip.

CHAPTER XII

THE EXECUTION

Cornelius had not three hundred paces to walk
outside the prison to reach the foot of the scaffold.
At the bottom of the staircase the dog quietly looked
at him while he was passing. Cornelius even fancied
he saw in the animaPs eyes a certain expression
which was almost compassion.

The dog, perhaps, knew by instinct the con-
demned prisoners, and reserved his teeth for those
who left as free men.

The shorter the way from the door of the prison
to the foot of the scaffold the more thickly, of
course, the curiosity-seekers were crowded together.

They were the same people who, not satisfied with
the blood which they had shed three days before,
were now craving for a new victim.

Therefore Cornelius had scarcely made his appear-
ance when a fierce roar ran through the whole street,
spreading all over the square, and re-echoing from
the streets w^hich led to the scaffold, and which were
likewise crowded with spectators.

The scaffold indeed resembled an islet at the con-
fluence of several rivers.

In the midst of these threats and groans and yells,
Cornelius, undoubtedly so that he might not hear
them, was utterly self-absorbed.

What thoughts occupied the mind of this just
man, whom death was staring in the face?

They were not of his enemies nor of his judges
nor of his executioners.

He was thinking of the beautiful tulips which he
would see from his lofty abode on high, at Ceylon,

lOI

The Execution

or Bengal, or elsewhere, when seated among the
pure of heart at the right hand of the Almighty he
might look down with pity on this earth, where John
and Cornelius de Witt had been murdered for having
thought too much of politics, and where Cornelius
van B aerie was about to meet with a like fate for
having been too much devoted to tulips.^

‘‘ It is only one stroke of the axe,*’ said the philo-
sopher to himself, and my beautiful dream will
begin to be realized. ”

But there was still a doubt whether, as in the case
of M. de Chalais, M. de Thou, and other people who
had been put to death by bunglers, the headsman
might not have to inflict more than one stroke, — ^that
is to say, more than one martyrdom, — on the poor
tulip-fancier.

Yet Van Baerle mounted the steps of his scaffold
none the less resolutely.

As he mounted them he was conscious of a feeling
of pride, whatever might befall, of having been the
friend of the illustrious John, and godson of the
noble-hearted Cornelius, whom the very ruffians who
were now crowding to witness his doom had torn to
pieces and burned three days before.

He knelt down, prayed fervently, and noticed, not
without a feeling of sincere joy, that as he lay his
head on the block, if he kept his eyes open, he would
be able to the last to see the grated window of the
Buytenhoi.

At length the fatal moment arrived, and Cornelius
placed his chin on the cold, damp block; but as he
did so, his eyes closed involuntarily, in order that
he might receive more resolutely the terrible stroke
which was about to fall on his head and blot out his
life.

A ray of light fell upon the planking of the scaffold
as the executioner raised his sword.

Van Baerle bade farewell to the great black tulip,
certain of awaking with thanks to God upon his lips
in another world filled with a more glorious and
brighter-hued radiance.

102 The Black Tulip

Three times he feit with a shudder a cold current
of air as the knife passed over his neck; but to his
surprise he felt neither pain nor shock.

He saw no change in the appearance of the clouds.

Then suddenly Van Baerle felt gentle hands rais-
ing him, without knowing whose they were, and
soon stood on his feet again, although trembling a
little.

He opened his eyes. Some one by his side was
reading from a huge parchment, sealed with a huge
seal of red wax.

And the same sun, yellow and pale, as it behoves
a Dutch sun to be, was shining in the skies; and
the same grated window looked down upon him
from the Buytenhof, and the same rabble, no longer
yelling but completely thunderstruck, were staring
up at him from all sides of the square.

By dint of keeping his eyes open and looking and
listening, Van Baerle began to understand what it
all meant.

The fact was that Monseigneur, William Prince
of Orange, afraid without doubt that the seventeen
pounds of blood, lacking a few ounces, which Van
Baerle had in his body, might cause the cup of divine
justice to overflow, had compassionately taken into
consideration his good character and the apparent
proofs of his innocence. His Highness, accordingly,
had granted him his life.

That is why the sword, which had been raised
with sinister intent, had circled three times above
his head, as the bird of ill omen did above that of
Turnus, but had not descended, and had left his
vertebrae intact.

That is why he had felt no pain and no shock ; and
for the same reason, the sun was still smiling upon
him from the blue — rather a dingy shade, to be sure,
but still very agreeable — blue vault of heaven,

Cornelius, who had rather hoped that he was to
see the Lord, and to enjoy a panoramic view of all
the tulip-bearing universe, was a little disappointed ;
but he comforted himself somewhat with the plea-

The Execution 103

sure he experienced in exercising the muscles of that
part of the body, which the Greeks called the Tpdx^Xoj,
but to which we French have given the name of “ le

col ” (the neck).

Cornelius at first hoped that the pardon would be
complete, and that he would be restored to full
liberty and to his flower-beds at Dort.

But Cornelius was mistaken. To use an expres-
sion of Madame de Sdvig-nd, who wrote about the
same time, There was a postscript to the letter;’^
and the most important part of the letter was con-
tained in the postscript.

By this postscript, William of Orange, Stadtholder
of Holland, condemned Cornelius van Baerle to im-
prisonment for life. He was not sufficiently guilty
to suffer death, but he was too much so to be set at
liberty.

Cornelius listened to the reading of the postscript ;
but the first feeling of vexation and disappointment
over, he said to himself, —

“Never mind, all is not lost; this perpetual im-
prisonment has its alleviations. I shall have Rosa,
and I shall also have my three bulbs of the black
tulip. ’ ’

But Cornelius forgot that the Seven Provinces had
seven prisons, one for each province; and that the
board of the prisoners is less expensive anywhere
else than at the Hague, which is a capital.

His Highness William, who apparently could not
afford to feed Van Baerle at the Hague, sent him to
undergo his perpetual imprisonment at the fortress
of Loewestein, very near Dort, but, alas ! also very
far from it; for Loewestein, as the geographers tell
us, is situated at the point of the islet which is
formed by the confluence of the Waal and the
Meuse, opposite Gorcum.

Van Baerle was sufficiently versed in the history
of his country to know that the celebrated Grotius
was confined in that castle, after the death of Barne-
veldt : and that the States, in their generosity to
the illustrious publicist, jurist, historian, poet, and

104 The Black Tulip

divine, had granted to him for his daily maintenance
the sum of twenty-four Dutch sous.

“I,” said Baerle to himself, “who am worth
much less than Grotius, shall be fortunate if I get
twelve sous, and I shall live miserably 5 but never
mind, — at all events, I shall be alive.

Then suddenly a terrible thought struck him.

‘‘ Ah,” he exclaimed, “ how damp and cloudy that
part of the country is; and the soil is bad for the

tulips P' .

Then he muttered to himself, as he let his head,
which had come so near falling much farther, fall
upon his chest, —

“ And then there’s Rosa ; she will not be at Loewe-
stein.”

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT WAS GOING ON ALL THIS TIME IN THE MIND
OF ONE OF THE SPECTATORS

While Cornelius was reflecting upon his fate, a
coach had driven up to the scaffold. This vehicle
was for the prisoner. He was invited to enter it,
and he obeyed.

His last look was towards the Buytenhof. He
hoped to see at the window Rosa’s face with an ex-
pression of satisfaction upon it; but the coach was
drawn by good horses, who soon carried Van Baerle
away from the shouts which the populace indulged la
in honour of the most magnanimous Stadtholder,
interm' ogled with a spice of abuse against the
brothers ^De Witt and the godson of Cornelius, who
had just been snatched from the jaws of death.

This reprieve suggested to the worthy spectators
remarks such as the following : —

“It’s very fortunate that we used such speed in
having justice done to that great villain John and to
that little rogue Cornelius; otherwise his Highness’s

What was going on 105

soft heart would certainly have cheated us out of our
vengeance upon them as well as upon this fellow.”

Among ail the spectators whom Van Baerle^s
execution had attracted to the Buytenhof, and whom
the sudden turn of affairs had disagreeably surprised,
beyond question the most disappointed was a
certain respectably-dressed burgher, who from early
morning had made such a good use of his feet and
elbows that he at last was separated from the scaf-
fold only by the file of soldiers who surrounded the
instrument of punishment.

Many had shown themselves eager to see the

perfidious ” blood of the guilty Cornelius flow, but
not one had expressed his eagerness with such a show
of implacable vindictiveness as the individual m
question.

The most furious had come to the Buytenhof^ at
daybreak to secure a better place; but he, outdoing
even them, had passed the night at the door of the
prison, and thence, as we have already said, he had
made his way to the very foremost rank, unguihus
et rostro; that is to say, coaxing some and pushing
others.

When the executioner had brought the prisoner
to the scaffold, the burgher who had mounted on the
capstone of the fountain, the better to see and be
seen, made the executioner a sign, as much as to
say,—

It^s a bargain, isnT it?”

The executioner answered by another sign, which
implied, —

“ Never fear, it^s all right.”

Who was this burgher who seemed on such terms
of mutual understanding with the executioner, and
what was the significance of this interchange of
gestures ?

Nothing could be more easily explained ; it was no
other than Mynheer Isaac Boxtel, who after the
arrest of Cornelius had come to the Hague to see if
he could not get hold of the three bulbs of the black
tulip.

io6 The Black Tulip

Boxtel had at first tried to bring- over Gryphus to
his interest; but he was a very bulldog for fidelity to
his trust, and proneness to suspicion, and snarling
manners. He had therefore bristled up at the hatred
expressed by Boxtel, whom he suspected^ to be a
warm friend of the prisoner, making trifling in-
quiries, to contrive with the more certainty some
means of escape for him.

Thus to the very first proposals which Boxtel made
to Gryphus to filch the bulbs, which Cornelius pro-
bably had concealed in his breast or in some corner
of his ceil, Gryphus ’s sole reply was to show him the
door, whither he was attended by the dog of the
stairway with caressing touches,

Boxtel was not discouraged merely because he had
left a piece of his trousers in the mastiff’s mouth.
He returned to the charge, but this time Gryphus
was in his bed, feverish, and with a broken arm.
He therefore did not himself admit his solicitor, who
then addressed himself to Rosa, offering her a head-
dress of pure gold in exchange for the three^ bulbs.
Whereupon the noble girl, who then had no idea of
the value of the object which she was requested to
steal, and for which she was to be so well paid, had
advised the tempter to apply to the executioner, he
being the final judge as well as the last heir of the
condemned man.

This repulse suggested a new scheme to Boxtel.

Meanwhile the sentence had been pronounced, and
was to be speedily executed, as we have seen. Thus
Isaac had no more time to bribe any one. He there-
fore seized upon the idea which Rosa had suggested ;
he went to the executioner.

Isaac had not the least doubt but that Cornelius
would die with his bulbs next his heart

But there were two things which Boxtel did not
calculate upon.

Rosa, — that is to say, love ; and

William of Orange, — that is to say, clemency.

But for Rosa and William the calculations of the
envious wretch were correct.

What was going on 107

But for William, Corrrelius would have died.

But for Rosa, Cornelius would have died with his
bulbs next his heart.

Mynheer Boxtel went to the headsman, to whom
he gfave himself out as a great friend of the con-
demned man, and bought from him all the effects,
save the gold and silver trinkets of the dead man that
was to be, for the rather exorbitant sum of one
hundred florins.

But what were a paltry hundred florins to a man
who was all but sure to buy with them the prize of
the Harlem Society?

It was money lent at the rate of a thousand for
one, which, as nobody will deny, was a very satis-
factory investment.

The headsman, on the other hand, had scarcely
anything to do to earn his hundred florins. He
needed only, as soon as the execution was over, to
allow Mynheer Boxtel to ascend the scaffold with his
servants to remove the inanimate remains of his
friend.

It was a very common thing for faithful servitors
to do when one of their masters died a public death
in the Buytenhof square.

A fanatic like Cornelius might very well have for
a friend another fanatic who would give a hundred
florins for his effects.

Therefore the executioner readily acquiesced in the
proposal, insisting upon only one condition, — that he
should be paid in advance.

Boxtel, like the people who enter a show at a fair,
might not be pleased, and refuse to pay on going out.

Boxtel paid in advance, and waited.

After this the reader may imagine how excited
Boxtel was ; with what anxiety he watched the
guards, the Recorder, and the executioner; and with
what intense interest he surveyed the movements of
Van Baerle. How would he place himself on the
block ; how would he fall ; and would he not, in fall-
ing, crush those priceless bulbs? Had he not at
least taken care to enclose them in a golden box,—
for gold is the hardest of all metals?

io8 The Black Tulip

We will not attempt to describe the effect produced
upon this worthy individual by the delays interposed
to the execution of the sentence. ^ Why did that
stupid executioner thus waste his time b
his sword over the head of Cornelius, instead of
cutting that head off? But when he saw the Recorder
take the hand of the condemned and lift him, as he
drew the parchment from his pocket ; when he heard
the pardon granted by the Stadtholder publicly read
out, — then Boxtel was no longer a human being.
The rage of the tiger, of the hyena, and of the
serpent glistened in his eyes, and vented itself in his
yell and' his movements. Had he been within reach
of Van Baerle, he would have pounced upon him and
killed him.

And so, then, Cornelius was to live, and was to
go to Loewestein ; and he would take his bulbs to his
prison with him; and perhaps he would find some
garden where the black tulip would flower for him !

There are certain calamities which the pen of a
writer, who is but human, is powerless to describe,
but which he must leave to his readers’ imagination,
contenting himself with a bare statement of the facts.

Boxtel, almost fainting, fell from the stone upon
some Orangemen who, like him, were sorely vexed
at the turn which affairs had taken. They, mistak-
ing the frantic cries of Mynheer Isaac for demonstra-
tions of joy, began to belabour him with kicks and
cuffs, such as could not have been administered in
better style on the other side of the Channel,

But what could a few blows of the fist add to such
sufferings as Boxtel underwent?

He w^anted to run after the coach which was carry-
ing away Cornelius with his bulbs. But in his hurry
he overlooked a paving-stone in his way, stumbled,
lost his centre of gravity, rolled over to a distance
of some yards, and only rose again, bruised and
begrimed, after the whole rabble of the Hague with
their muddy feet had passed over him.

Thus poor Boxtel, who was in hard luck that day,
added torn clothes, a broken back, and scratched
hands to his other woes.

The Pigeons of Dort 109

One might have thought that this was enough
for one day ; but, no ! Mynheer Boxtel, once more
on his feet, proceeded to tear out all of his hair that
would come out, as a sacrifice to the insane, sense-
less divinity called Envy, — a grateful offering, with-
out doubt, to the goddess, who, as mythology teaches
us, wears a head-dress of serpents.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PIGEONS OF DORT

It was, indeed, in itself a great honour for Cor-
nelius van Baerle to be confined in the same prison
which had once received the learned Grotius.

But when he arrived at the prison he found that
a still more honour was in store for

him. It so happened that the very cell which had
been occupied by Olden-Barn eveldt’s illustrious
disciple at Loewestein was vacant when Van Baerle
the tulip-fancier was sent there by the clemency of
the Prince of Orange.

The cell had a very bad character at the castle,
because Grotius, thanks to his wife’s fertile brain,
had escaped from it in that famous book-chest, which
his guards omitted to examine.

On the other hand, it seemed to Van Baerle an
auspicious omen that this cell was assigned to him;
for according to his ideas a jailer ought never to
give to a second pigeon the cage from which a former
occupant has so easily flown away.

The cell is historical. We will not waste time by
giving a detailed description of it here, save to say
that there was an alcove in it, which had been used
by Madame Grotius. It differed in no respect from
the other cells of the prison, except that, perhaps,
it was a little higher, and had a splendid view from
the grated window.

Moreover, the purpose of this tale is not to

I lO

The Black Tulip

describe interiors. In Van Baerle’s eyes life was
something beyond the mere act of breathing. Over
and above his bodily machine he loved two things,
which he could hereafter enjoy only in imaglnaLion,
the gift of that indefatigable traveller thought, —

A flower, and a woman j both of them, as he con-
ceived, lost to him for ever.

Fortunately, honest Van Baerle was mistaken.
God, who had had His eyes upon him' with the smile
of a loving father when he was walking to the scaf-
fold, God had destined him to lead even in his prison-
cell, the former abode of Grotius, the most adventur-
ous life which ever fell to the lot of a tulip-fancier.

One morning, while he stood at his window inhal-
ing the fresh air which came from the Waal, and
gazing longingly from afar at the windmills of his
native Dort, which could be seen in the distance
behind a forest of chimneys, he saw flocks of pigeons
come from that quarter, and perch fluttering in the
sunlight on the pointed gables of Loewestein.

“These pigeons,’’ Van Baerle said to himself,
“ have come from Dort, and consequently may
return there. By fastening a little note to the wing
of one of them I might have a chance to send a
message to Dort, where my friends are grieving for
me. ' ^

Then, after a few moments’ consideration, he ex-
claimed, “ I will do it.”

Patience comes very easy to a man of twenty-eight
who is condemned to imprisonment for life; that is
to say, to something like twenty-two or twenty-three
thousand days of captivity.

Van Baerle, still thinking of the three bulbs, — for
that thought was continually knocking at the door
of his memory, as the heart beats in the breast, —
made a snare for catching the pigeons. He tempted
the flighty creatures with all the resources afforded
him by his kitchen, which cost eighteen Dutch sous
(twelve French) per day; and after a month of
unsuccessful attempts, he at last caught a female
bird.

Ill

The Pigeons of Dort

It cost him two more months to catch a male
bird ; he then shut them up tog ether, and having
about the beginning of the year 1673 obtained some
eggs from them, he released the female, which, leav-
ing the male behind to hatch the eggs in her stead,
flew joyously to Dort with a note under her wing.

She returned m the evening. She still had the
note. >

Thus it went on for fifteen days, while Van Baerle’s
first feeling of bitter disappointment changed to utter
despair.

On the sixteenth day, at last, the bird came back
without it.

Van Baerle had addressed it to his nurse, the old
Frisian woman; and implored any charitable soul
who might find it, to convey it to her as safely and
speedily as possible.

In this letter addressed to the nurse there was a
little enclosure for Rosa.

God, who with a single breath scatters the grain
upon the walls of time-worn castles, and fertilizes it
there with a drop of rain, decreed in His infinite
goodness that Van Baerle *s nurse should receive
the letter.

This is how it came about.

When he left Dort for the Hague, and the Hague
for Gorcum, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel had abandoned
not only his house, his servant, his observatory, and
his telescope, but his pigeons as well.

The servant, having been left without wages, began
by living on his little savings, and then resorted to
his master’s pigeons.

Seeing this, the pigeons emigrated from the roof
of Isaac Boxtel to that of Cornelius van Baerle.

The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, who could
not live without something to love. She

conceived an j-fi'cc'tiop [,-»r the pigeons, which had
thrown themselves on her hospitality ; and when
Boxtel’s servant reclaimed them, with the idea of
eating the last twelve or fifteen, ^ as he had already
done with the others, she offered to buy them from
him at six Dutch sous each.

1 12 The Black Tulip

This being' just double their value, the man was
very glad to close the bargain, and the nurse found
herself in undisputed possession of the pigeons of
her master’s envious neighbour. ^

These pigeons with others, in the course of their
wanderings, visited the Hague, Lcewestein, and
Rotterdam, seeking variety, doubtless, in the flavour
of their wheat or hemp seed.

Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand
of God in everything, had willed that Cornelius van
Baerie should happen to hit upon one of these very
pigeons.

It follows that if the envious fellow had not left
Dort to follow his rival to the Hague in the first
place, and then to Gorcum or to Lcewestein, for the
two places are separated only by the confluence of
the Waal and the Meuse,— Van Baerle’s letter would
have fallen into his hands and not the nurse’s; m
which event the poor prisoner, like the raven of the
Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time
and his trouble, and instead of having to relate the
series of exciting events which are about to flow from
beneath our pen like the varied hues of a many-
coloured tapestry, we should have nought to describe
but a weary waste of days, dull and melancholy and
gloomy as night’s dark mantle.

We have followed the note into the hands of Van
Baerle’s nurse.

So It happened that on one of the early days of
February, just as the first shades of night were fail-
ing from heaven, leaving the stars twinkling above
them, Cornelius heard on the staircase of the tower
a voice which made him start.

He put his hand to his heart and listened.

It was the sweet melodious voice of Rosa.

Let us confess it : Cornelius was not so stupefied
with surprise, or so beside himself with joy, as he
would have been but for the pigeon, which in answer
to his letter had brought back hope to him under her
empty wing ; and knowing Rosa, he expected every
day, if the note had ever reached her, to have news
of his love and of his bulbs.

The Pigeons of Dort 113

He rose, listened once more, and bent toward the
door.

Yes, they were indeed the accents which had fallen
so sweetly on his heart at the Hague.

The question now was, whether Rosa, who had
made the journey from the Hague to Loewestein, and
who — Cornelius did not understand how — had suc-
ceeded even in penetrating into the prison, would
have as good success in making her way to the
prisoner himself.

While Cornelius, debating this point within him-
self, was building all sorts of castles in the air, and
was struggling between hope and fear, the shutter of
the wicket in the door opened, and Rosa, with delight
expressed in her beaming eyes as well as in every
detail of her costume, and more beautiful than ever
from the grief which for the last five months had
blanched her cheeks, pressed her face against the
wire grating of the window, saying to him, Oh,
Mynheer, Mynheer ! here I am T’

Cornelius stretched out his arms, and raised his
eyes heavenward, with a cry of joy.

“ Oh, Rosa, Rosa

“Hush! let us speak low; my father is close
behind,’^ said the girl.

“ Your father?^’

“Yes, he is in the courtyard at the bottom of the
staircase, receiving the instructions of the Governor ;
he will come up very soon.’’

“ The instructions of the Governor?”

“ Listen to me, I’ll try to tell you all about it in a
few words : The Stadtholder has a country-house
about a league from Leyden, — a. large dairy, nothing
more, — and my aunt, who was his nurse, has charge
of all the cattle kept there. As soon as I received
your letter, which, alas ! I could not read myself, but
which your nurse read to me, I hastened to my aunt.
There I remained until the Prince came to visit the
dairy; and when he came, I asked him to allow my
father to exchange his post as head turnkey at the
prison of the Hague for that of jailer of the fortress

1

1 14 The Black Tulip

of Loewestein. The Prince did not suspect my
object; had he known it he might have refused my
request, but as it is, he granted it.**

“ So you are here?*’

** As you see.**

** And I shall see you every day?**

As often as I can manage it.**

‘ ‘ Oh, Rosa, my beautiful Rosa, do you care for
me a little, then?*’

A little?” she said; “ you don’t ask for enough,
Mynheer Cornelius.”

Cornelius, with a passionate gesture, held out his
hands towards her, but they were only able to touch
each other with the tips of their fingers through the
bars.

” Here is my father,** said Rosa.

She abruptly drew back from the door, and ran
to meet old Gryphus, who made his appearance at the
top of the staircase.

CHAPTER XV

THE LITTLE GRATED WINDOW

Gryphus was followed by the mastiff.

He took the animal on his round through the jail,
so that, in case of need, he might recognize the
prisoners.

” Father,** said Rosa, ‘‘here is the famous cell
from which Mynheer Grotius escaped. You know
of Mynheer Grotius?**

“Oh, yes, that rascal Grotius; a friend of that
villain Barneveldt, whom I saw executed when I was
a child. Aha ! Grotius, indeed ! And so that*s the
cell from which he escaped. Well, 1*11 answer for it
that no one shall follow his example.**

And opening the door, he began to talk to the
prisoner in the darkness.

The dog, on his part, went up to the prisoner.

The Little Grated Window 1 15

and growled, and snuffed at his legs, as if to ask him
what right he had still to be alive, after he had seen
him leave the prison between the recorder and the
executioner.

But the fair Rosa called him to her side.

“ Well, Mynheer,’* said Gryphus, holding up his
lantern to throw a little light around, you see in
me your new jailer. I am head turnkey, and have
all the cells under my care. I’m not ill-tempered,
but I’m not to be trifled with as far as discipline
goes.”

My good Master Gryphus, I know you perfectly
well,” said the prisoner, entering the circle of light
cast by the lantern.

^‘Holloa! it’s you, is it, Mynheer van Baerle?”
said Gryphus. It’s you, is it? Well, well, well,
what a small place the world is I”

“ Yes, and it’s really a great pleasure to me, good
Master Gryphus, to see that your arm must be get-
ting well, for you are able to hold your lantern with
it. ”

Gryphus frowned.

“ That’s just the way,” he said; people always
make blunders in politics. His Highness has granted
you your life; I’m sure I should never have done so.”

“ Pshaw !” replied Cornelius, why not?”

'' ‘ Because you are the very man to begin conspiring
again. You learned people have dealings with the
devil. ”

‘‘ Nonsense, Master Gryphus. Are you dissatisfied
with the manner in which I set your arm, or with
the price I asked you?” said Cornelius, laughing.

‘ ‘ Quite the contrary, by my faith ! quite the con-
trary 1” growled the jailer; “ you set it only too well.
There is some witchcraft in this. After six weeks
I was able to use it as if nothing had happened ; so
much so, that the doctor of the Buytenhof, who
knows his trade well, wanted to break it again, to set
it in the regular way, and promised me that I should
go three months without being able to move it.”

” And you did not like that?”

ii6 The Black Tulip

I said, * Nay, as long as I can make the sign of
the cross with that arm ’ (Gryphus was a Roman
Catholic), ‘ I laugh at the devil/

“ But if you laugh at the devil, Master Gryphus,
you ought with so much more reason to laugh at
scholars/’

“Oh, you scholars, you scholars /’ cried Gryphus,
without noticing the implied question ; “ you scholars !
Why, I would rather have to guard ten soldiers than
one scholar. The soldiers smoke, guzzle, and get
drunk ; they are as gentle as lambs if you only give
them brandy or Moselle ; but for a scholar to drink,
smoke, and get tipsy, ah, no ! They keep sober, for
in that way they spend nothing, and have their heads
always clear to conspire. But I tell you, at the
very outset, it won’t be such an easy matter for you
to conspire here. In the first place, no books, no
papers, and no conjuring book. It’s books that
helped Mynheer Grotius to get off.”

“ I assure you, Master Gryphus,” replied Van
Baerle, “ that although I may have for a moment
entertained the idea of escaping, I most decidedly
have no such idea now.”

“ All right,” said Gryphus, all right ! Just keep
a sharp watch over yourself, and I will do the same.
But, for all that, I say his Highness has made a great
mistake. ’ ’

“ Not to have cut off my head? Thank you,
Master Gryphus.”

“ To be sure; just see how quiet the Mynheers de
Witt keep now.”

“ What you say now, Master Gryphus, is very
horrible!” cried Van Baerle, turning away his head
to conceal his disgust. “You forget that one of
those unfortunate gentlemen was my friend, and that
the other was my second father.”

“ Yes, but I also remember that both were con-
spirators. And, moreover, I am speaking philan-
thropically.”

“ Oh, indeed ! explain that a little to me, my good
Master Gryphus, for I do not quite understand it.”

The Little Grated Window 1 17

Well, then, if you had remained on the block of
Master Harbruck ”

“ Well?’’

** You would now be done with suffering-; whereas,
I will not conceal from you that I shall lead you a
sad life of it here.”

Thank you for the promise, Master Gryphus.”

And while the prisoner smiled ironically at the old
jailer, Rosa from behind the door replied with a smile
full of sweet consolation.

Gryphus stepped toward the window.

It was still light enough to see the vast expanse of
the horizon, indistinctly merged in a grey haze.

‘‘ What view has one from here?” asked Gryphus.

Why, a very fine one,” said Cornelius, with a
glance at Rosa.

“ Yes, yes, too much of a view, too much.”

And at this moment the two pigeons, frightened
by the sight, and especially by the voice of the
stranger, left their nest, and disappeared in the even-
ing mist.

Halloa ! what’s this?” cried Gryphus.

** My pigeons,” answered Cornelius.

“ My pigeons !” echoed the jailer, “ my pigeons !
Has a prisoner anything of his own?”

“ Why, then,” said Cornelius, the pigeons which
a merciful Father in Heaven has lent to me.”

“ So here we have a breach of the rules already,”
replied Gryphus. ‘‘ Pigeons ! ah, young man, young
man, I’ll tell you one thing, that before to-morrow
is over your pigeons will boil in my pot. ”

First of all you must catch them, Master
Gryphus. You won’t allow these pigeons to be
mine? Well, I vow they are even less yours than
mine.”

“What is postponed is not abandoned,” growled
the jailer, “and I shall certainly wring their necks
before twenty-four hours are over.”

As he gave utterance to this ill-natured promise,
Gryphus put his head out of the window to examine
the nest. This gave Van Baerle time to run to the

ii8 The Black Tulip

door, and squeeze the hand of Rosa, who whispered
to him, —

At nine o’clock this evening*.”

Gryphus, quite taken up with the desire of catching
the pigeons next day, as he had promised he would
do, saw and heard nothing of this ; and having closed
the Vvindow he took the arm of his cn'.g'''tcr. left
the cell, turned the key twice, drew the bolts, and
went off to make the same kind promises to the
other prisoners.

He was scarcely out of sight, when Cornelius went
to the door to listen to the sound of his footsteps,
and as soon as they had died away he ran to the
window, and completely demolished the nest of the
pigeons.

He preferred to banish for ever from his presence
the gentle messengers to whom he owed the happiness
of his re-union with Rosa, rather than to expose them
to clanger of death.

This" visit of the jailer, his brutal threats, and the
gloomy prospect of his administration, from which
he knew what to expect, — all this failed to distract
Cornelius from his cheerful thoughts, and especially
the sweet hope which the presence of Rosa had
re-awakened in his heart.

He waited eagerly to hear the clock of the tower
of Loewestein strike nine.

Rosa had said, —

‘‘ At nine, expect me.”

The last stroke was still vibrating through the air,
when Cornelius heard on the staircase the light step
and the rustle of the flowing dress of the fair Frisian
maid, and soon after, a light appeared at the little
wicket in the door, on which the prisoner fixed his
earnest gaze.

The shutter was opened from the outside.

** Here I am,” said Rosa, out of breath from run-
ning up the stairs; “ here I am.”

‘‘ Oh, my good Rosa !”

Are you glad to see me?”

“ Can you ask? But how did you contrive to get
here? Tell me.”

The Little Grated Window 119

** Well, listen. My father falls asleep every even-
ing, almost immediately after his supper j I then
make him lie down, for he is a little stupefied with his
gin. Don’t say anything about it, because, thanks
to this nap, I shall be able to come every evening
and talk for an hour with you.”

Oh, I thank you, Rosa, dear Rosa.”

As he spoke, Cornelius put his face so near the
little window that Rosa withdrew hers.

‘‘ I have brought you your bulbs,” said she.

Cornelius’s heart leaped with joy. He had not yet
dared to ask Rosa what she had done with the
precious treasure which he had entrusted to her.

“ Oh, you have preserved them, then?”

Did you not give them to me as a thing which
was dear to you?”

Yes; but as I did give them to you, it seems to
me that they belong to you.”

They would have belonged to me after your
death ; but, fortunately, you are alive now. Oh, how
I blessed his Highness in my heart 1 If God grants
Prince William all the happiness that I have wished
him, certainly King William will be the happiest man
not only in his kingdom, but in all the world. You
were living, I said to myself; and while I kept the
Bible of your godfather Cornelius, I was resolved to
bring you your bulbs, only I did not know how to
accomplish it. So I had already formed the plan of
going to the Stadtholder to ask from him my father’s
appointment as jailer at Lcewestein when your nurse
brought me your letter. Oh, we shed many tears
together, I assure you. But your letter only con-
firmed me the more in my resolution. I then left for
Leyden, and the rest you know.”

“ What ! my dear Rosa, you thought, even before
receiving my letter, of coming to be near me again?”

“ Did I think of it?” said Rosa, allowing her love
to get the better of her bashfulness ; * ‘ indeed I
thought of nothing else.”

As she said this, Rosa looked so exceedingly beau-
tiful that for the second time Cornelius placed his

120

The Black Tulip

forehead and Hps against the bars, with the laudable
purpose, doubtless, of thanking the young lady.

Rosa, however, drew back as before.

'‘In truth,’* she said, with that coquetry which
somehow or other is in the heart of every young girl,
“ in truth I have often been sorry that I am not able
to read, but never so much so, or in exactly the same
way, as when your nurse brought me your letter. I
kept the paper in my hands, which spoke to other
people, but was dumb for me, poor fool that I am.”

‘ ‘ So you have often regretted not being able to
read?” said Cornelius. On what occasions, pray?”

“Faith,” said she, laughing, “to read all the
letters which have been written to me.”

“ Oh, you receive letters, Rosa, do you?”

“ By hundreds !”

“But who ever wrote to you?”

“Who? Why, in the first place, all the students
who passed over the Buytenhof Square; all the
officers who went to parade; all the clerks, and even
the merchants who used to see me at my little
window.**

“And what did you do with all these notes, my
dear Rosa?”

“ Formerly,’* she answered, “ I got some friend to
read them to me, which was capital fun; but since
a certain time — well, what use was it to listen to such
nonsense? — since a certain time I have burnt them.”

“ Since a certain time 1” exclaimed Cornelius, with
a look In which love and joy were both beaming.

Rosa, blushing, lowered her eyes, so that she did
not observe Cornelius’s lips <' !r5'< < , and, alas !

they only met the cold grating. VcL, m spite of this
obstacle, they communicated to the lips of the young
girl the glowing breath of the most tender kiss.

At this hot breath, which seemed to burn her lips,
Rosa grew as pale, perhaps even paler than she had
been at the Buytenhof on the day of the execution.
She uttered a plaintive sob, closed her fine eyes, and
fled, trying in vain to still the beating of her heart.
Cornelius, again alone, could do naught but inhale

Master and Pupil 12 1

the sweet perfume left by her hair on the cruel
bars.

Rosa had fled so precipitately that she completely
forgot to return to Cornelius the three bulbs of the
black tulip.

CHAPTER XVI

MASTER AND PUPIL

The worthy Gryphus, as the reader must have
seen, was far from sharing the kindly feelings of his
daughter for the godson of Cornelius de Witt.

As there were only five prisoners at Loewestein, the
duty of watching them was not a very onerous one,
and the post was a sort of sinecure, bestowed upon
him in consideration of his age.

But the worthy jailer in his zeal had magnified,
with all the power of his imagination, the import-
ance of the task imposed upon him. In his eyes,
Cornelius assumed the gigantic proportions of a
criminal of the first order. He looked upon him,
therefore, as the most dangerous of all his prisoners.
He watched his every movement, and always ap-
proached him with a vinegary expression, punish-
ing him for what he called his dreadful rebellion
against the kind-hearted Stadtholder.

Three times a day he entered Van Baerle's cell,
expecting to detect him in some breach of the rules ;
but Cornelius had renounced letter-writing since his
fair correspondent was at hand. It is even probable
that if Cornelius had obtained his full liberty, with
permission to go wherever he liked, the prison, with
Rosa and his bulbs, would have appeared to him
preferable to any other habitation in the world, with-
out Rosa and his bulbs.

Rosa, in fact, had promised to come and talk with
her dear captive at nine o’clock every evening, and on
the first evening she kept her word as we have seen.

122 The Black Tulip

On the following evening she went up as before,
with the same mysteriousness and the same precau-
tion, But she had resolved, in her own mind, not
to put her face too near the grating. In order,
however, to engage Van Baerle at once in a con-
versation which would seriously occupy his attention,
she began by passing to him through the grating the
three bulbs, which were still wrapped up in the same
paper.

But to the great astonishment of Rosa, Van Baerle
pushed back her white hand with the tips of his
fingers.

The young man had been considering what he
should do.

“ Listen, he said. ‘‘ I think we should risk too
much by putting all our eggs in one basket. Re-
member, my dear Rosa, that what we have to do
is to accomplish something which until now has been
considered impossible. We are to make the great
black tulip flower. Let us, therefore, take every
possible precaution, so that, in case of a failure, we
may not have anything to reproach ourselves with.
This is what I have thought would be the surest way
for us to succeed/’

Rosa listened eagerly to what the prisoner went
on to say, much more on account of the importance
which the unfortunate tulip-fancier attached to it than
from any conviction of her own as to its importance.

^‘This is the way,” Cornelius continued, “in
which I have thought we could best work together in
this matter.”

“ I am listening,” said Rosa.

‘ ‘ There ought to be a little garden connected with
the fortress, or if not a garden, a courtyard; or if
neither garden nor courtyard, surely something in
the way of a terrace.”

“We have a very fine garden,” said Rosa; “it
runs along the bank of tbe Waal, and is full of fine
old trees. ”

“ Could you bring me a little soil from the garden,
dear Rosa, so that I may examine it?”

123

Master and Pupil

I will do so to-morrow.’^

Take some from a sunny and some from a shady
spot, so that I may judge of its properties in a dry
and in a moist state.’’

“ Rest assured I will do as you wish.”

‘‘ After I have selected the soil, and, if necessary,
modified it, we wall divide our three bulbs; you mull
take one and plant it, on the day that I tell you, in
the soil I have selected. It is sure to flower, if you
tend it to my directions.”

I will not lose sight of it for a minute. ”

You will give me another, which I will try to
grow here in my cell, and which will help me to
beguile those long, weary hours when I cannot see
you. I confess that I have very little hope of the
last, and by anticipation, I regard the unfortunate
bulb as sacrificed to my selfishness. However, the
sun sometimes visits me. I will turn to account every
possible bit of artificial heat, even that from my pipe
and its hot ashes ; and lastly, we, or rather you, will
keep in reserve the third bulb, as our last resource, in
case our first two experiments should result in failure.
In this manner, my dear Rosa, it is impossible that
we should not succeed in winning the hundred
thousand florins for our dowry, and in tasting the
supreme delight of seeing our labours crowned with
success. ’ ’

I understand,” said Rosa. I will bring you
the soil to-morrow, and you shall select some for your
bulb and for mine. As to yours, I shall have to make
several trips for that, as I cannot bring much at a
time.”

** There is no hurry, dear Rosa ; our tulips need not
be put into the ground for a month at least. So you
see we have plenty of time before us. Only I hope
that in planting your bulb you will strictly follow all
my instructions. ’ ’

** I promise you I will.”

“ And when you have once planted it you will com-
municate to me all the circumstances which may
interest our nursling; such as change of weather,

124 Black Tulip

footprints on the walks, or footprints on the beds.
You will listen at night to ascertain if our garden
is not resorted to by cats. A couple of the wretched
beasts rooted up and laid waste two of my beds at
Dort.’^

‘‘ I will listen/’

On moonlight < you ever looked at

your garden, my dear child.''*’

“The window of my sleeping-room overlooks it,”
“ Good ! On moonlight nights you must look and
see v/hether any rats come out from the holes in the
wall. The rats are terrible fellows for gnawing what-
ever they come across ; and I have heard unfortunate
tulip-growers complain most bitterly of Noah for
having put a couple of rats in the ark. ’ ’

“ I will observe, and if there are cats or rats ”

“ You will tell me of it — that’s right. And, more-
over,” continued Van Baerle, in whom captivity had
begotten distrust, “ there is an animal much more to
be feared than even the cat or the rat. ”

“ What animal do you mean?”

“Man. You understand, my dear Rosa, that a
man will steal a florin, and risk the galleys for such
a trifle ; and, consequently, it is much more likely that
some one might steal a bulb worth a hundred thou-
sand florins.”

“ No one ever enters the garden but myself.”

“ Can you answer for that?”

“ I swear it.”

“ Thank you, thank you, my dear Rosa. Ah ! all
my pleasure comes from you. ”

And as the lips of Van Baerle approached the
grating with the same ardour as the day before, and
as, moreover, the hour had arrived for her to take her
leave, Rosa drew back her head, and stretched out
her hand.

In this pretty little hand, of which the coquettish
damsel was particularly proud, was the bulb.

Cornelius kissed most tenderly the tips of the
fingers of that hand. Was it because^ the hand still
held one of the bulbs of the black tulip, or because

Master and Pupil 125

it was Rosa’s hand? We will leave this point to the
decision of wiser heads than ours.

Rosa withdrew with the two other bulbs, pressing;
them to her heart.

Did she press them to her heart because they were
the bulbs of the great black tulip, or because they
came to her from Cornelius ?

This point, we believe, might be more readily
decided than the other.

However that may have been, from that moment
life became sweet, and again full of interest to the
prisoner.

Rosa, as we have seen, had handed him one of the
bulbs.

Every evening she brought to him, handful by
handful, a quantity of soil from that part of the
garden which he had found to be the best, and which,
indeed, was excellent.

A large jug, which Cornelius had skilfully broken
to suit his purposes, made an excellent fiower-pot. He
half filled it, and mixed the earth which Rosa
brought him with a little river-mud which he dried, —
a mixture which formed a soil admirably adapted to
his needs.

Then, at the beginning of April, he planted his first
bulb.

We could never succeed in describing the pains and
skilful strategy to which Cornelius resorted to con-
ceal from Gryphus his delight with what he was
doing. A half-hour is long enough for a philosophical
prisoner to have a whole century full of thoughts and
emotions.

Not a day passed on which Rosa did not come to
have her chat with him.

The tulips, in the cultivation of which Rosa took a
complete course, formed the principal topic of the
conversation; but, interesting as the subject was,
people cannot always talk about tulips.

So they began to talk about other things as well,
and the tulip-fancier found out, to his great astonish-
ment, what a vast range of subjects a conversation

126 The Black Tulip

But Rosa had made it a rule to keep her pretty face
six inches from the gratingf, for the beautiful g-irl had
undoubtedly lost confidence in herself, since she had
discovered how a prisoner's breath may set a
maiden’s heart on fire.

There was one thing especially which gave Cor-
nelius almost as much anxiety as his bulbs, — a subject
to which he always returned, — the dependence of
Rosa on her father.

On that account the very life of Van Baerle, the
learned doctor of science, the picturesque artist, the
man of genius, ^ — of Van Baerle, who could in all
probability claim to be the discoverer of that chef
d^ceuvre of creation which was to be called, in accord-
ance with previous arrangement “ Rosa Barlasnsis,”
— the life, yes, more than the life, the happiness of
this man, depended absolutely on the mere whim of
another man; and that other man was a being of a
lower order, and of the meanest capacity, — a jailer,
rather less intelligent than the lock in which he turned
the key, and harder than the bolt he drew. It
resembled the episode of Caliban in the “ Tempest,’^
— a struggle between a man and a brute.

However, Van Baerle’s happiness was in his
hands ; he might some fine morning find Loewestein
dull, or the air of the place unhealthy, or the gin bad,
and leave the fortress, and take his daughter with
him, — when Cornelius and Rosa would again be
separated.

God, who grows weary of doing too much for His
creatures, might keep them apart for ever.

Of what use would the carrier-pigeons then be?”
said Cornelius to Rosa; “for then, my dear Rosa,
you would not be able to read what I should write to
you, nor to write to me your thoughts in return. ”

Well,” answered Rosa, who in her heart was as
much afraid of a separation as Cornelius himself,
“we have an hour every evening; let us make the
most of it.”

“ I don’t think we make such a bad use of it, as it

Master and Pupil 127

‘‘ Let us employ it even better,” said Rosa, smiling.
“ Teach me to read and to write; believe me, your
lessons will not be thrown away, and in this way we
shall never be separated any more, except by our
own will ! ’ ^

“ Oh, then indeed we have eternity before us !”
cried Cornelius.

^ Rosa smiled, and made a most charming gesture of
dissent.

Do you propose to remain for ever in prison?”
she retorted. ' ‘ After sparing your life, do you
suppose that his Highness will not also restore your
liberty? And will you not then recover your fortune,
and be a rich man? And then, when you are once
more free and prosperous, will you still deign to look,
as you pass on horseback or in your carriage, at poor
Rosa, the jailer’s daughter, which is next door to
being the hangman’s daughter?”

Cornelius tried to protest, and certainly he would
have done so with all his heart, and with all the
sincerity of a soul full of love.

The damsel, however, interrupted him, asking
with a smile, “ How is your tulip getting on?”

To speak to Cornelius of his tulip was a sure way
of making him forget everything, even Rosa herself.

“Very well, indeed,” he said. “The pellicle is
growing black; the sprouting has commenced; the
veins of the bulb are swelling ; eight days hence, and
perhaps sooner, we should be able to cislinguLh the
presence of first buds. And yours, Rosa?”

“Oh, I have done things on a large scale, and
according to your directions. ”

“ Now, let me hear, Rosa, what you have done,”
said Cornelius, whose eyes glowed as eagerly and
whose breath came as quickly as on the evening when
those eyes had burned their way into Rosa’s thoughts,
and that breath had left its mark upon her heart.

“ Well,” she said, smiling, for in truth she could
not help studying this double love of the prisoner for
herself and for the black tulip, “ I have done things
on a large scale. I have prepared a bed as you

128

The Black Tulip

described it to me, on a clear spot, far from trees
and walls, in a soil slig-htly mixed with sand, rathei
moist than dry, without a fragment of stone oi
pebble.

Well done, Rosa ! well done
The soil thus made ready now awaits youi
pleasure. The first fine day you will tell me to plant
my bulb, I will plant it; you know that I must dc
my planting much later than you, as I have in my
favour all the chances of fresh air, of the sun, and
abundance of moisture. ’ ’

‘‘True, very true,'' exclaimed Corneli -
his hands with joy. “ You are a good ^ ^ \ \
and you are sure to win your hundred thousand
florins. "

“Don't forget," said Rosa, gaily, “that your
pupil, as you call me, has still other things to learn
besides the cultivation of tulips."

“ Yes, yes; and I am as anxious as you are, Rosa,
that you should learn to read."

“ When shall we begin?"

“ At once."

“No, to-morrow."

“ Why to-morrow?"

“ Because to-day our hour has expired, and I must
leave you. ' '

“ Already? But what shall we read?"

“ Oh," said Rosa, “ I have a book, — a book which
I hope will bring us good fortune."

“To-morrow, then."

“ Yes, to-morrow."

On the Following evening Rosa returned with Cor-
nelius de Witt's Bible.

CHAPTER XVH

THE FIRST BULB

On the foilowino evening, as we have said, Rosa
returned with Cornelius de Witt's Bible.

The First Bulb 129

Then began between the master and the pupil one
of those charming scenes which are the delight of
the novelist, when he can find an opportunity, in the
course of his story, to describe them.

The grated wicket, the only opening through which
the two lovers were able to communicate, was too
high for these good people — who had until then been
content to read all that they had to say in each other’s
eyes — to read conveniently from the book Rosa had
brought.

Therefore she had to lean against the grating, hold-
ing the book on a level with the taper which she held
in her right hand, but which Cornelius luckily
thought of fastening to the bars with a handkerchief,
so as to afford her a little rest. Rosa was then able
to follow with her finger the letters and syllables,
which Cornelius made her spell out, while he with a
straw pointed out the letters to his attentive pupil
through the holes of the grating.

The light of the lamp gave new brilliancy to Rosa’s
rich colouring, to the sparkle of her deep blue eyes,
and to the wealth of fair hair beneath her head-dress
of polished gold, which the Frisian women, as we
have said, had adopted. Her fingers being jfield up-
wards, the blood left them, and they assumed that
pale pink tirit which seems to shine in the light, and
indicates the mysterious life which ebbs and flows
beneath the flesh.

Rosa’s intellect rapidly developed under the in-
fluence of such animating contact with the mind of
Cornelius ; and when the difficulties seemed too ardu-
ous, then their eyes would meet in a long and loving
gaze, their lashes would touch, and their hair would
be mingled together, and electric sparks would be
given off, sufficient to illuminate the dark recesses of
an idiot’s brain.

And Rosa, after she had returned to her room,
repeated in her mind the reading lessons, and at the
same time, in her heart, the unspoken lessons of love.

One evening she came half-an-hour later than
usual. This half-hour’s tardiness .was too extra-

K

130 The Black Tulip

ordinary an incident not to call forth at once in«*
quiries from Cornelius as to its cause.

“ Oh, do not be angry with me !*' she said, it is
not my fault. My father has renewed his acquaint-
ance here at Loewestein with an old fellow who used
to come often at the Hague, to ask him to let him
see the prison. He is a good sort of fellow, fond of
his bottle, tells funny stories, and moreover is very free
with his money, and always ready to pay his share. ’ *

‘‘ You don’t know anything further of him?” asked
Cornelius, surprised.

No,” she answered; it’s only about a fortnight
since my father has taken such a fancy to this friend
who is so assiduous in visiting him.”

Ah,” said Cornelius, shaking his head uneasily,
as every new incident seemed to him to forbode some
catastrophe, ‘ ‘ very likely some spy, one of those who
are sent into jails to watch both prisoners and
keepers.”

don’t believe that,” said Rosa, smiling; '‘if
that man is spying after any one, it is certainly not
after my father.”

“ After whom, then?”

” Me, for instance.”

” You?”

“ Why not?” laughed Rosa.

” Ah, that’s true,” Cornelius observed, with a sigh.
” You will not always keep suitors at a distance,
Rosa, and this man may become your husband. ”

” I don’t say no.”

” Upon what do you base your anticipation of this
happiness in store?”

“ Say, rather, my dread of such an occurrence,
Mynheer Cornelius.”

“Thank you, Rosa, for you are right; your
dread ?”

“ Is based upon this ”

“ Tell me; I am anxious to hear.”

“ This man came several times to the Buytenhof, at
the Hague ; and it was just at the time when you were
confined there. When I left, he left too; when I

The First Bulb 13 1

came here, he came after me. At the Hague his
pretext was that he wanted to see you.”

See me — me, do you say?”

“ Oh, a mere pretext, without any doubt; for now,
when he could plead the same reason, as you are my
father’s prisoner again, or rather as my father is your
jailer again, he does not take any further interest in
you; on the contrary, I heard him say to my father
only yesterday that he did not know you. ”

‘ ‘ Go on, Rosa, pray do, so that I may try to form
some idea who the man is, and what he wants.”

^ ‘ Are you quite sure, Mynheer Cornelius, that there
is no one of your friends who may be interesting him-
self in your behalf?”

“I have no friends, Rosa; I have only my old
nurse, whom you know, and who knows you. Alas !
poor Sue, she would come herself, and would resort to
no tricks, but would say, weeping bitterly, to your
father or to you, ‘ My good sir, or my good young
lady, my child is here; see bow grieved I am; let me
see him just for one hour, and FIl pray for you as
long as I live.’ No, no,” continued Cornelius, with
the exception of my poor old Sue, I have no friends. ”

“ Then I come back to what I thought before ; and
the more so, as last evening at sunset, while I was
arranging the bed where I am to plant your bulb, I
saw a shadow gliding between the elder-trees and the
aspens. I did not appear to see him, but it was this
man. He concealed himself and saw me turning up
the earth, and certainly it was I whom he was follow-
ing, and I whom he was spying after. I could not
move my rake or touch a piece of dirt without his
noticing it. ”

‘‘ Oh, yes, yes ; he is in love with you !” said Cor-
nelius. “ Is he young? is he handsome?”

And he looked anxiously at Rosa, impatient for
her answer.

Young? handsome?” cried Rosa, laughing
heartily. “ His face is hideous; he is crooked, and
nearly fifty years of age, and never dares to look me
in the face or to speak aloud.”

“ And his name?”

132 The Black Tulip

“ Jacob Giseis.”

“ I don’t know him.’’

‘‘ So you see that he does not come after you. ”

‘‘ At all events, even if he does love you, Rosa,
which is very likely (for to see you is to love you), you
don’t love him, do you?”

Indeed I don’t.”

Then I may be easy in my mind?”

“ I promise you that you may.”

Well, then, now that you are beginning: to know
how to read, you will read all that I write to you
about the pangs of jealousy and of absence, won’t
you, Rosa?”

I will if you make good big letters. ”

But the next moment she seemed to become a little
uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking. So
she changed the subject abruptly.

“ By the bye,” said she, “ how is your tulip get-
ting on?”

“Oh, Rosa, imagine my delight; this morning I
looked at it in the sun, after I had gently removed the
soil which covers the bulb, and I saw the point of the
first shoot. Ab, Rosa ! my heart fairly overflowed ;
that almost imperceptible whitish bud, which a fly’s
wing brushing against it would break off, that mere
suspicion of a living organism which was revealed
by an impalpable witness, moved me more deeply
than did the reading of his Highness’s order which
restored my life to me by turning aside the execu-
tioner’s axe on the scaffold at the Buytenhof.”

“ You have hopes, then?” said Rosa, smiling.

“Yes, yes, I have indeed. ”

“ And now tell me, when shall I plant my bulb?”

“ Oh, the first favourable day I will tell you ; but it
is of the utmost consequence that you let nobody help
you, and confide your secret to no one in the world ;
for, you see, a connoisseur, by merely looking at the
bulb, would be able to discover its value ; and so, my
dearest Rosa, be most especially careful of the third
bulb which you still have, and which you must guard
as the apple of your eve/’

“ It is still wrapped up in the same paper in which

The First Bulb 133

you put it, and just as you gave it me, Mynheer Cor-
nelius, buried at the bottom of my chest under rny
lace, which keeps it dry without pressing upon it.
But good-night, my poor prisoner.”

‘‘ What ! already?”

'' Yes, I must.”

Coming so late, and going so soon?”

My father might grow impatient not seeing me
return, and my lover might suspect a rival.”

She paused a moment to listen anxiously.

What is it?” asked Van Baerle.

I thought I heard ''' “.c M-g.”

What was It, pray?”

“ So.TC'tiiing like a step creaking on the staircase.”

'‘Surely,” said the prisoner, “ that cannot be
Gryphus, for he can always be heard at a distance.”

“ No, it is not my father, I am quite sure, but ”

“ But?”

‘‘ But it might be Mynheer Jacob.”

Rosa rushed towards the staircase, and a door was
actually heard to close hurriedly before the maiden
had descended the first ten steps.

Cornelius was very uneasy about it, but his troubles
were only beginning.

When one’s evil destiny is about to be fulfilled, it
rarely happens that the victim is not forewarned of
its approach, on the same principle of generosity
which prompts the bully to give his adversary leisure
to put himself on guard.

Almost invariably such warnings, which are due to
the human instinct, or to the complicity of inanimate
objects, which are often not so inanimate as they are
generally believed to be, — almost always such warn-
ings are neglected. The whistle has sounded, and
has fallen upon an unattentive ear, which should have
taken alarm, and, having taken alarm, should have
been forewarned.

The foliov-ing day passed without any remarkable
incident. Gryphus made his three visits and dis-
covered nothing.

When he heard the jailer approaching,— for Gry-

134 The Black Tulip

phus never came at the same hours, hopingf thus to
discover the secrets of the prisoner, — when he heard
the jailer approaching-, Van Baerle, by means of a
contrivance of his own invention, which resembled
those used to raise and lower bags of grain by
farmers, had succeeded in arranging things so that he
could suspend his jug below the ledge of tiles and
stone beneath his window. The strings by which this
was effected he had found means to cover with that
moss which generally grew on the tiles, or in the
crevices of the stonework.

Gryphus suspected nothing, and the device suc-
ceeded for eight days. One morning, however, when
Cornelius, absorbed in the contemplation of his bulb,
from which a bud was already peeping forth, had not
heard old Gryphus coming upstairs, as a gale of wind
was blowing which shook the whole tower, the door
suddenly opened, and Cornelius was surprised with
his jug between liis knees.

Gryphus, perceiving an unkpown and consequently
a forbidden object in the hands of his prisoner,
pounced upon it with the same rapidity as the hawk
on its prey.

As ill-luck would have it, or the fatal address which
the spirit of evil sometimes bestows upon the wicked,
his coarse, hard hand, the same which he had broken,
and which Cornelius van Baerle had set so well, fell
full upon the middle of the jug at the very spot where
the precious bulb was lying in the soil.

What have you got here?^^ he roared. “Ah,
have I caught you?’* and with this he plunged his
hand in the soil.

“ I ? Nothing, nothing, ’ ’ cried Cornelius , trembling.

“ Ah, I have caught you I — a jug, and earth in
it ! There is some criminal secret at the bottom of
all this.”

“ Oh, my good Master Gryphus,” said Van Baerle,
imploringly, and as anxious as the partridge whose
young have been stolen by the reaper.

Gryphus, meanwhile, was digging away with his
crooked fingers.

The First Bulb 135

Oh, Mynheer, Mynheer I take care!*’ said Cor-
nelius, and every vestige of colour left his face.

Take care of what? In God’s name, of what?”
roared the jailer.

Take care, I say, you will crush it!”

And with a rapid and almost frantic movement he
snatched the jug from the hands of Gryphus, and hid it
like a precious treasure behind the bulwark of his arms.

But Gryphus, obstinate, like an old man, and more
and more convinced that he was unearthing a con-
spiracy against the Prince of Orange, rushed up to his
prisoner with his stick in the air; seeing, however,
the unflinching resolution of the captive to protect his
flower-pot, he was convinced that Cornelius trembled
much less for his head than for his jug.

He therefore tried to wrest it from him by force.

“ Ah,” said the jailer, furious, ” this is downright
rebellion, you know.”

“ Let my tulip alone !” cried Van Baerle.

” Oh, yes! your tulip, indeed I” replied the old
man, ” we know all your tricks.”

“ But I swear ”

” Let go I” repeated Gryphus, stamping his foot;
” let go, or I shall call the guard. ”

“ Call whomever you like, but you shall not have
this poor flower except with my life.”

Gryphus, in his rage, plunged his fingers a second
time into the soil, and drew out the bulb, which was
quite black; and while Van Baerle, quite happy to
have saved the vessel, did not suspect that the adver-
sary had possessed himself of its precious contents,
Gryphus dashed the soft bulb violently on the flags,
where it was broken open, and almost immediately
disappeared, crushed and ground to pulp beneath the
jailer’s heavy boot.

Van Baerle saw the work of destruction, got a
glimpse of the moist ddbris, and, guessing the cause
>f the ferocious joy of Gryphus, uttered a cry of
igony, which would have melted even the adamant-
ine heart of that ruthless jailer who some years
before killed Pelisson’s spider.

136 The Black Tulip

The idea of striking down the cruel wretch passed
like Lghtning through the brain of the tulip-fancier.
The hot blood rushed to his head and blinded him ;
and he raised in his two hands the jug heavy with
all the useless earth which remained in it. One instant
more, and he would have flung it at the bald head of
old Gryphus.

But a cry stopped him, — a cry of tearful agony,
uttered by poor Rosa, who, trembling and pale, with
her arms raised to heaven, made her appearance be-
hind the grated window, and stood between her
father and her friend.

Cornelius let the jug fall, and it broke into a thou-
sand pieces with a tremendous crash.

Gryphus then understood the danger with which he
had been threatened, and he broke out into a volley
of the most terrible abuse.

“ Indeed,*’ said Cornelius to him, ‘‘ you must be a
cowardly wretch, to rob a poor prisoner of his only
consolation, a tulip bulb.”

“For shame, my father!” Rosa chimed in; it is
a real crime that you have committed.”

Ah, is that you, jade?” the old man cried, turn-
ing upon her in a boiling rage; you just attend to
your own affairs, and march downstairs as fast as
ever you can.”

‘‘ Alas ! unfortunate wretch that I am !” Cornelius
repeated, in a tone of utter despair,

** After all, it is only a tulip,” Gryphus resumed,
a little shamefacedly. You may have as many
tulips as you like; I have three hundred of them in
my loft,”

To the devil with your tulips !” cried Cornelius;

you are worthy of each other. Had I a hundred
thousand million of them, I would gladly give them
for the one which you have just destroyed !”

“ Ah, indeed !” cried Gryphus, triumphantly. Of
course it was not your tulip you cared for. You
know perfectly well that there was some magic about
that false bulb, perhaps some means of correspond-
ence with the enemies of his Highness, who gave

Rosa’s Lover 137

you your life. I always said they were wrong in not
cutting your head off. ' ’

‘‘ Father, father!” cried Rosa.

‘‘ Well, it’s ail right ! it’s all right !” said Gryphus,
with increasing animation. I have destroyed it,
and I’ll do the same again, as often as you repeat the
trick. Didn’t I tell you, my fine fellow, that I would
make your life a hard one?”

A curse on you 1” Cornelius exclaimed hope-
lessly, as he gathered with his trembling fingers the
remnants of the bulb, the tomb of so much joy and so
many hopes.

We will plant the other to-morrow% dear Mynheer
Cornelius,” said Rosa, in a low voice, for she under-
stood the intense grief of the tulip-fancier, and poured
these kind words, dear heart ! like a drop of balm on
the bleeding wounds of Cornelius.

CHAPTER XVIII
Rosa’s lover

Rosa had scarcely pronounced these consolatory
words, when a voice was heard from the staircase,,
asking Gryphus what was going on.

‘‘ Do you hear, father?” said Rosa.

‘‘What?”

“ Master Jacob is calling you; he is anxious.”

“ There was such a noise,” said Gryphus,
” wouldn’t you have thought that this confounded
doctor was murdering me? Ah, what a peck of
trouble one always has with these fellows that know
so much I”

Then pointing to the staircase, he said to Rosa, —

“ You go first, young woman.”

And as he closed and locked the door he con-
tinued, —

“ I will be there in a moment, friend Jacob.”

Thereupon he took his departure, carrying his

138 The Black Tulip

daughter with him, and leaving Cornelius alone with
his bitter grief, and muttering to himself, —

“ Ah, you old hangman ! it is you who have mur-
dered me; I shall not get over this.’’

And certainly the unfortunate prisoner would have
fallen ill but for the counterpoise which Providence
had granted to his grief, and which was called

Rosa/’

In the evening she came back. Her first words
announced to Cornelius that henceforth her father
would no longer make any objection to his cultivat-
ing flowers.

“And how do you know that?” the prisoner
asked, with a doleful look.

“ I know it because he has said so.”

“To deceive me, perhaps.”

“No, he repents of his violence.”

“ Ah, yes ! but it’s too late.”

“ This repentance is not his own idea.”

“ Whose is it, pray?”

“ If you only knew how his friend scolded him.”

“Ah, Mynheer Jacob again! He hasn’t left you
then, this Mynheer Jacob?”

“ I assure you, he leaves us just as little as he can
help.”

As she said this, she smiled in such a way that the
little cloud of jealousy which had darkened the brow
of Cornelius speedily vanished.

“ How did it happen?” asked the prisoner.

“ Well, being questioned by his friend, my father
told at supper the whole story of the tulip, or rather
of the bulb, and of his own fine exploit of crushing
it.”

Cornelius heaved a sigh which might have been
called a groan.

“ If you only could have seen Master Jacob at that
moment!” continued Rosa. “I really thought he
would set fire to the castle; his eyes were like two
flaming torches, his hair stood on end, and he
clenched his fist; for a moment I thought he proposed
to strangle my father.

Rosa’s Lover 13c

“‘You have done that!’ he cried, ‘you havt

crushed the bulb ! ’

Indeed I have,’ was my father’s reply.

^ It is infamous !’ shrieked Master Jacob; ‘ it is
horrible I You have committed a great crime !’

“ My father was quite dumfounded.

‘‘ ‘ Are you mad, too?' he asked his friend.’"

"''‘Oh, what a worthy man is this Jacob!" mut-
tered Cornelius, — " an honest heart, a man in a
thousand."

" The truth is, that it is impossible to treat a man
more rudely than he did my father," continued Rosa.
“ His trouble seemed to be quite genuine, and he kept
repeating over and over again, —

“ ‘ Crushed ! the bulb crushed I My God, my God !
crushed ! ’

" Then, turning towards me, he asked, ‘ But it was
not the only one that he had?" "

" Did he ask that?" inquired Cornelius, with some
anxiety.

" ‘ You think it was not the only one?' said my
father. * Very well, we will search for the others.'

“ ‘You will search for the others?' cried Jacob,
taking my father by the collar; but he immediately
loosed him.

“ Then he turned to me again, and asked, ‘ And
what did the poor young man say?'

“ I did not know what to answer, as you had so
strictly enjoined me never to allow any one to guess
the interest which you take in the bulb. Fortunately,
my father relieved my embarrassment by answering
for me, —

“ ‘ What did he say? He began to foam at the
mouth. '

“ I interrupted him.

“ ‘ How could he have helped being in a rage,’ said
I, ‘ when you were so harsh and so brutal ? '

“ ‘ Well, now, are you mad, too?' cried my father;
‘ what a terrible misfortune it is to crush a tulip bulb !
Why, you can buy a hundred of them for a florin in
the market of Gorcum.'

140 ■ The Black Tulip

“ ‘ B?it less valuable ones than that was !’ I in-
cautiously replied/’

“ And what did Jacob say or do at these words?’’
asked Cornelius.

“At these words, I must say his eyes seemed to
flash fire.”

“Yes,” said Cornelius, “but that was not all; I
am sure he said something, too.”

“ ‘ So then, my pretty Rosa,’ he said, with a voice
as sweet as honey^ ‘ so you think that was a valuable
bulb?’

‘ ‘ I saw that I had made a blunder.

“‘What do I know?’ I said carelessly; 'do I
understand anything of tulips? I only know, alas ! —
for we are condemned to live side by side with
prisoners — I know that for them any pastime is of
value. This poor Mynheer van Baerle amused him-
self with this bulb. Well, I say that it was sheer
cruelty to take away his pla’vthmg. ’

“ ‘ But first of all,’ said my father, ' how did he
procure this bulb? That would be a good thing to
know, in my opinion.’

“ I turned my eyes away to avoid my father’s look;
but in doing so I encountered Jacob’s gaze fixed upon
me.

‘ ‘ It seemed as if he were trying to read the very
inmost thoughts of my heart.

' ‘ Some little show of anger sometimes avoids the
necessity of an answer. I shrugged my shoulders,
turned my back, and moved towards the door.

“But my steps were arrested by something I
heard, although it was uttered in a very low voice.

“Jacob said to my father, —

“ ‘ It surely would not be very difficult to ascer-
tain that. ’

“ ‘ Yes, we can search him, and if he has any more
bulbs we shall find them. ’

“ ‘ That’s what you must do, for ordinarily three
bulbs are raised at once.’ ”

“ Three at once !” cried Cornelius. ” Did he say
that I have three bulbs?”

Rosa’s Lover 141

** Well, you see his words made as much impres-
sion on me as my repetition of them does on you. I
turned round. They were both of them so deeply
engaged in their conversation that they did not
observe my movement.

** ‘ But/ said my father, ‘ perhaps he has not got
his bulbs about him?’

^ Then make him come down, under some pretext
or other, and I will search his cell meanwhile- ’ ’ ’

‘‘Aha!” exclaimed Cornelius. “Your friend
Jacob must be an infernal scoundrel !”

“ I am afraid he is. ”

“ Let me see, Rosa,” continued Cornelius, with a
pensive air.

“What is it?”

“ Did not you tell me that on the day when you
were preparing your bed, this man followed you?”

“ Yes.”

“ And that he glided like a shadow behind the
elder-trees?”

“ Certainly.”

“ So that not one of your movements escaped
him?”

“ Not a single one.”

“ Rosa,” said Cornelius, turning pale.

“Well?”

“ It was not you he was after.”

“ Who else, then?”

“ It is not you that he is in love with !”

“ With whom else, pray?”

“ He was after my bulb, and is in love with my
tulip !”

“ Upon my word, it is very possible !” cried Rosa.

“ Will you make sure of it?”

“ How?”

“ Oh, it would be very easy !”

“Tell me how.”

“Go to-morrow into the garden; try to arrange
that Jacob may know, as he did the first time, that
you are going there, and try to make sure that he
follows you, as he did the first time. Make a pre-

142 The Black Tulip

tence of putting the bulb in the ground; leave the
garden, but keep your eye on him, and see what he

docs. ^ ^

‘‘ Well, and then?”

“ Then we will govern our actions r ?cc

‘"Oh,” said Rosa, with a sigh, ‘‘you are very
fond of your bulbs, Mynheer Cornelius.”

To tell the truth,” said the prisoner, sighing like-
wise, “since your father crushed that unfortunate
bulb, I feel as if part of my own self had been para-
lyzed.”

“ What do you say to trying another plan?” Rosa
asked him.

“What is it?”

“ Why don’t you accept my father’s proposition?”

“ What proposition?”

“ Did he not offer you tulip-bulbs by hundreds?”

“ Indeed he did.”

“ Accept two or three, and, along with them, you
may raise the third of your own bulbs.

“ Yes, that would do very well,” said Cornelius,
knitting his brow, “if your father were alone; but
there is that other fellow, that wretch Jacob, watch-
ing every movement we make.”

‘ ‘ That is true ; but only think ! you are depriving
yourself, I can see, of a very great pleasure. ”

She pronounced these words with a smile which
was not altogether without a tinge of irony.

Cornelius reflected for a moment ; he evidently was
g against some vehement desire.

'* xNoI he cried at last, with the stoicism of a
Roman of old ; no, it would be a weakness, it would
be a folly, it would be cowardice ! If I thus gave up
the last resource which we possess to the uncertain
chances of anger and envy, I should never deserve to
be forgiven. No, Rosa, no; to-morrow we will
decide upon the spot for your tulip ; you will plant it
according to my instructions; and as to the third
bulb ” — Cornelius here heaved a deep sigh — “ as for
the third, keep it in your chest; watch over it as a
miser over his first or last piece of gold, as the

Rosa’s Lover 143

mother over her child, as the wounded man over the
last drop of blood in his veins, — watch over it, Rosa I
Some voice within me tells me that it will be cur
salvation, and the source of wealth to us ! Watch
over it ! ^ And even if the lightningf should strike
Lcpwestein, give me your oath, Rosa, that you will
seize and save this last of the bulbs which encloses
the possibility of a black tulip in preference to your
rings or your jewels or the pretty golden head-
dress which frames your lovely features,* swear it,,
Rosa I ’ ’

Be easy, Mynheer Cornelius,’* said Rosa, with a
sweet mixture of melancholy and gravity ; “ be easy ;
your wishes are law to me.”

And even,” continued Van Baerle, warming
more and more with his subject, ‘ * if you should per-
ceive that you are followed, that your steps are
watched, and that your speech has excited the sus-
picion of your father, or of that wretched Jacob,
whom I perfectly loathe, — ^well, Rosa, don’t hesitate
for one moment to sacrifice me, who am only living
now through your means ; me, who have no one in
the world but you : give me up and come no more
to see me. ’ ’

Rosa felt her heart sink within her, and her eyes
were filling with tears.

** Alas !” she said.

“What is it?” asked Cornelius.

“ I see one thing too clearly.”

What do you see?”

“ I see,” she said, sobbing as if her heart would
break, ‘ * I see that you love your tulips so dearly that
there is no room in your heart for other affection.”

With this she fled.

Cornelius, after this, passed one of the worst
nights he ever had had in his life.

Rosa was vexed with him, — and with good reason.
Perhaps she would never return to see him, and then
he would have no more news either of Rosa or of his
tulips.

Now, how can we explain such a character as this,.

144 The Black Tulip

entirely unprecedented among* the Simon-pure tulip-
fanciers, a race which has ceased to exist?

We have to confess, to the lasting* shame of our
hero and of fioriculture in general, that of his two
affections he felt most strongly inclined to regret
that of the flesh; and when, at about three in the
morning, he fell asleep, overcome with fatigue, tor-
mented with dread, and torn with remorse, the great
black tulip yielded precedence in his dreams to the
sweet blue eyes of the fair-haired Frisian maid.

CHAPTER XIX

THE MAID AND THE FLOWER

But poor Rosa, in her secluded chamber, could not
know of whom or of what Cornelius was .

As a consequence of what he had said she was
more ready to believe that his visions were of the
black tulip than of her; and yet Rosa was mistaken.

But as there was no one to tell her that she was
mistaken, and as Cornelius's thoughtless words had
fallen upon her heart like drops of poison, Rosa did
not dream, but wept.

The fact was, that as Rosa was a high-spi-Iled
creature, of no mean perception and a noble heart,
she took a very clear and judicious view of her own
social position, if not of her moral and physical
qualities.

Cornelius was a scholar, and was wealthy, — at
least he had been before the confiscation of his pro-
perty ; Cornelius belonged to the merchant-bour-
geoisie, who were prouder of their richly-emblazoned
shop-signs than the hereditary nobility of their
heraldic bearings. Therefore, although he might
find Rosa a pleasant companion for the dreary hours
of his captivity, when it came to a question of bestow-
ing his heart, it was almost certain that he would
bestow it upon a tulip, —that is to say, upon the

The Maid and the Flower 145

proudest and noblest of flowers, rather than upon
poor Rosa, the jailer's lowly child.

Thus Rosa understood Cornelius's preference of
the tulip to herself, but was only so much the more
unhappy therefor.

During the whole of this terrible night the poor
girl did not close an eye, and before she rose in the
morning she had formed a resolution, — she had
resolved to return to the grated window no more.

But as she knew with what ardent desire Cor-
nelius looked forward to the news about his tulip;
as she did not choose to expose herself to the risk
of continual meeting with a man for whom she felt
her sense of pity increasing to such a degree that it
had gone beyond mere compassion, and was advanc-
ing by the straight road and with great strides
towards passionate love ; as she did not, on the other
hand, wish to drive him to despair, — she resolved to
continue by herself the reading and writing lessons ;
and, fortunately, she had made sufficient progress to
dispense with the help of a master, provided that his
name was not Cornelius.

Rosa, therefore, applied herself most diligently to
reading poor Cornelius de Witt's Bible, on the second
leaf of which (become the first, since the other had
been torn out) the last will of Cornelius van Baerle
was written.

Alas !" she muttered, when perusing again this
document, which she never finished without a tear,
love's pearl, rolling from her limpid eyes down her
pale cheeks, — alas ! at that time I thought for one
moment that he loved me. ’ '

Poor Rosa I she was mistaken. Never had the
prisoner's feeling for her amounted to true, sincere
love until the time at which we are now arrived, when,
as we have said with some sense of embarrassment,
in the contest between the black tulip and Rosa, the
tulip had had to give way.

But Rosa, we say again, knew nothing of the dis-
comfiture of the great black tulip.

Having finished her reading, a science in which

L

146 - The Black Tulip

she had made great progress, she took her pen and
began, with as laudable diligence, the by far more
difficult task of writing*.

As, however, Rosa was already able to write
almost legibly on the day when Cornelius so in-
cautiously opened his heart, she did not despair of
progressing quickly enough to write the prisoner how
his tulip was faring in a week at the very latest. ^

She had not forgotten one word of the directions
Cornelius had given her. In fact, Rosa never forgot
a syllable that Cornelius addressed to her, even
when what he said did not take the form of direc-
tions about his bulbs.

He, on his part, awoke more madly in love than
ever. The tulip, indeed, was still a luminous and
prominent object in his mind; but he no longer
looked upon it as a treasure to which he ought to
sacrifice everything, even Rosa, but as a valuable
flower, a marvellous combination of nature and art,
which God had given him for his beloved to wear in
her bosom.

Yet during the whole of that day he was haunted
with a vague uneasiness. He resembled those men
whose will is sufficiently strong to enable them to
forget for the moment some great danger which is
impending for the night or the, morrow. Their pre-
occupation once overcome, their life goes on in its
accustomed course. But from time to time the for-
gotten danger gnaws at their heart with its sharp
tooth. They start in alarm, ask themselves why
they did so, and then, recalling what they had for-
gotten, they say, sighing bitterly, Oh, yes, it's
that!"" The “that" in Cornelius’s case was the
fear lest Rosa might not come in the evening as
usual.

As the evening approached, his pre-occupation be-
came more and more acute and absorbing, until at
last it assumed entire control of his whole body, and
for the time was his whole life.

Thus it was with a loudly-beating heart that he
welcomed the darkness; and as it grew darker and

The Maid and the Flower 147

darker, the words which he had said to Rosa the
evening' before, and which had so deeply afHicted her,
came back to his mind more vividly than ever; and
he asked himself how he could have told his gentle
comforter to sacrifice him to his tulip, — that is to
say, to give up seeing him if necessary, — whereas to
him the sight of Rosa had become an essential con-
dition of life.

In Cornelius’s cell he could hear the hours strike
on the clock of the fortress. Seven o’clock struck,
then eight, then nine. Never did the clang of brass
make a deeper echo in the heart of man than did the
last stroke of the bell, marking the ninth hour, in
the heart of Cornelius.

All was then silent again. Cornelius put his hand
on his heart to repress, as it were, its violent palpita-
tion, and listened.

The noise of Rosa’s footstep, the rustling of her
gown on the staircase, were so familiar to his ear,
that she had no sooner mounted one step than he
would say to himself, —

“ Here she comes 1”

This evening no sound broke the silence of the
corridor. The clock struck nine and a quarter ; tben
two strokes sounded for the half-hour ; then the three-
quarters; and at last its deep tone announced, not
only to the inmates of the fortress, but also to ail
the inhabitants of Loewestein, that it was ten o’clock.

This was the hour at which Rosa generally parted
from Cornelius. The hour had struck, but Rosa had
not come.

Thus, then, his foreboding had not deceived him.
Rosa, in her annoyance, shut herself up in her room
and left him to himself.

“Alas!” said Cornelius to himself, ‘‘I have
deserved all this. She will come no more; and she
is right in staying away: in her place I should do
just the same.”

And nevertheless, Cornelius still listened, waited,
and hoped.

‘He listened and waited until midnight; but then he

148 The Black Tulip

gave up hope, and threw himself, dressed as lie was,
upon his bed.

It was a long and sad night for him ; day came at
last, but day brought no hope to the prisoner.

At eight in the morning, the door of his cell
opened ; but Cornelius did not even turn his head : he
had heard the heavy step of Gryphus in the corridor,
but had felt perfectly sure that it was the step of
only one person.

He did not even so much as look at Gryphus.

And yet he would have been so glad to ask him for
news of Rosa. He was actually on the point of ask-
ing the question, strange as it would have appeared
to her father. He hoped— the selfish fehow ! — to
hear from Gryphus that his daughter was ill.

Except on extraordinary occasions, Rosa never
came during the day. Cornelius, therefore, did not
really expect her, as long as the day lasted. Yet his
sudden starts, his listening at the door, his rapid
questioning glances towards the wicket, showed that
the prisoner entertained a vague hope that Rosa
might depart from her regular custom.

At Gryphus ’s second visit, Cornelius, contrary to
all his former habits, asked the old jailer, with his
most winning voice, about her health ; but Gip^phus,
laconic as a Spartan, contented himself with the
answer, —

She’s all right !”

At the third visit, Cornelius changed the form of
his question.

I hope nobody is ill at Loewestein?”

Nobody,” replied Gryphus, even more sparing
of his words than before, as he slammed the door in
the prisoner’s face.

Gryphus, being little used to such amenities on the
part of Cornelius, saw in them the beginning of an
attempt to bribe him.

Cornelius was alone once more; it was seven
o’clock in the evening, and the heartrending
anguish of the evening before, which we have tried
to depict, returned with even greater intensity.

The Maid and the Flower 149

But again the hours passed away without bringing
the sweet vision which lighted up, through the
wicket, the cell of poor Cornelius, and which upon
retiring left light enough in his heart to last until
it came back again.

Van Baerle passed the night in an agony of
despair. On the following day Gryphus appeared to
him even more hideous, brutal, and hateful than
usual. In his mind, or rather in his heart, he had
cherished a hope that it was he who prevented his
daughter from coming.

He had a fierce desire to strangle Gryphus ; but if
that were to come to pass, every law, divine and
human, would have interfered to forbid his ever see-
ing Rosa more.

Thus the jailer escaped, without suspecting it, one
of the greatest dangers that he had ever been threat-
ened with during his whole life.

The evening came, and his despair changed to
melancholy, which was the more gloomy, because,
in spite of himself, thoughts of his poor tulip would
mingle themselves with Van Baerle mental suffer-
ing. It was now just that part of April which the
most experienced gardeners point out as the precise
time when tulips ought to be planted. He had said
to Rosa, —

“ I will tell you the day when you are to put the
bulb in the ground.’^

He ought, on the morrow, to fix the following
evening for the time. The weather was propitious;
the air, although still damp, began to be tempered
by the pale rays of the April sun, which, being the
first to come, are so welcome in spite of their pallor.
Suppose Rosa should allow the right moment for
planting the bulb to pass by 1 Suppose that, in addi-
tion to the grief of seeing her no more, he should
have to deplore the misfortune of seeing his tulip fail
because it had been planted too late, or perhaps not
at all !

These two vexations, combined, might well make
him leave off eating and drinking.

150 The Black Tulip

This was the case on the fourth day.

It was pitiful to see Cornelius, dumb with grief 5,
and pale from utter prostration, stretch out his head
through the iron bars of his window, at the risk of
not being able to draw it back again, to try and get
a glimpse of the garden on the left, spoken of by
Rosa, who had told him that its wall bordered upon
the river, in the hope of espying by the early rays of
the April sun the maiden or the tulip, — ^his two lost
loves.

In the evening, Gryphus took away his breakfast
and dinner; he had scarcely touched them.

On the following day he did not touch them at all,
and Gryphus carried away the delicacies intended for
those two meals quite untasted.

Cornelius had remained in bed the whole day.

said Gryphus, coming down from the
last visit, “ I think we shall soon get rid of our
scholar."'

Rosa was startled.

“Nonsense,"" said Jacob, “what do you mean?""

“ He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t
leave his bed. Like Mynheer Grotius, he will leave
here in a chest; only the chest will be a coffin,”

Rosa grew as pale as death.

“Ah,” she murmured, “I understand; he is
worried about his tulip.”

And rising with a heavy heart, she returned to
her chamber, where she took a pen and paper, and
during the whole of that night busied herself forming
letters.

On the following morning, when Cornelius got up
to drag himself to the window, he perceived a paper
which had been slipped under the door.

He pounced upon it, opened it, and read the
following words, in a handwriting which he could
scarcely have recognized as that of Rosa, so much
had she improved during her short absence of seven
days, —

“ Never fear, your tulip is doing finely.”

Although these few words of Rosa somewhat

What had Taken Place 15 1

soothed the grief of Cornelius, yet he was no less
sensible of their bitter irony. Rosa, then, was not
ill, but was hurt to the quick; she had not been
forcibly prevented from coming, but had voluntarily
sta3^ed away. Thus Rosa, being at liberty, had
sufficient strength of will to abstain from coming
to him, who was dying with grief for a sig'lit of
her.

Cornelius had paper and a pencil which Rosa had
brought to him. He guessed that she expected an
answer, but that she would not come before the
evening to get it. He therefore wrote on a piece of
paper, similar to that which he had received, —

It is not my anxiety about the tulip that has
made me ill, but my grief at not seeing you.^^

After Gryphus had made his last visit of the day
and evening had come, he slipped the paper under
the door, and listened.

But listen as intently as he would, he heard neither
Rosa’s footstep nor the rustling of her gown.

He heard naught but a voice as light as a breath
and sweet as a kiss, which whispered through the
little wicket the word, —

“ To-morrow.

To-morrow — it was the eighth day. For eight
days Cornelius and Rosa had not seen each other.

CHAPTER XX

WUIAT HAD TAKEN PLACE DURING THOSE EIGHT DAYS

On the following evening, at the usual hour,^ Van
Baerle heard some one scratch at the little wicket,
just as Rosa had been in the habit of doing in the
happy days of their friendship.

We may imagine that Cornelius was not far from
the door, between the bars of which he at last saw
again the lovely face which had disappeared from
his life for so long.

Rosa, who was waiting there, with a lamp in her

i 52 The Black Tulip

hand, could not restrain a startled movement when
she saw how pale and sad he was.

“Are you in pain. Mynheer Cornelius?’" she
asked.

“ Yes, I am,” he answered, “ in pain of mind and
bod}^”

“I saw that you did not eat,"" said Rosa; “my
father told me that you remained in bed all day, so
I wrote to you to ease your mind as to the fate of the
precious object of your anxiety.""

“ And I,"’ said Cornelius, “ I have given you my
reply. Seeing you return, my dear Rosa, I thought
you had received my letter.""

“ It is true, I have received it.""

“ You cannot this time excuse yourself by saying
that you cannot read. Not only do you read very
fluently, but also you have made marvellous progress
in writing.""

“ Indeed, I not only received your letter, but I
read it, too. So I have come to see whether there is
not some means of restoring you to health. " "

“Restore me to health!’" cried Cornelius; “but
have you any good news to tell me?”

As he spoke, the youth fixed upon Rosa his eyes
sparkling with hope.

Whether she did not, or would not, understand
this look, the maiden answered gravely, —

“ I have no news except about your tulip, which
is, I know, the object of your gravest anxiety.”

Rosa pronounced these few words in a freezing
tone, which cut deep into the heart of Cornelius.
The zealous tulip-fancier did not understand all that
this poor child, who was always at odds with her
rival the black tulip, was striving to hide under the
mask of indifference.

“ Oh !” muttered Cornelius, “ again I again ! My
God, Rosa, have I not told you that I thought but
of you ; that it was you alone whom I regretted ; you
alone whom I missed ; you alone who by your absence
deprived me of air and light and warmth and life?”

Rosa smiled with a melancholy air.

What had Taken Place 153

** Ah,” she said, “your tulip has been in great
danger. ”

Cornelius trembled involuntarily, and allowed him*
self to be caught in the trap, if trap there were.

“ Great danger!” he cried, trembling like a leaf;
** in Heaven^s name, what danger?”

Rosa looked at him with gentle compassion ; she
felt that what she wished was beyond the power of
this man, and that he must be taken as he was,
foibles and all.

“ Yes,” she said, “ you guessed aright; Jacob the
wooer, Jacob the love-lorn swain, did not come here
on my account.”

“ What did he come for, pray?” Cornelius
anxiously asked.

“ He came for the sake of the tulip.”

“ Alas !” said Cornelius, growing even paler at
this piece of information than he had been when
Rosa, by a misapprehension, had told him a fortnight
before that Jacob was coming on her account.

Rosa saw his alarm, and Cornelius guessed, from
the expression of her face, that she was pursuing the
line of thought we have indicated.

“ Oh, pardon me, Rosa I” he said; “ I understand
you, and I am well aware of the kindness and sin-
cerity of your heart. To you God has given the wit
and judgment, the strength and ability, to defend
yourself ; but to my poor tulip, when it is in danger,
God has given nothing of all this.”

Rosa, without replying to the prisoner’s excuse,
continued : —

“ From the moment when I first knew that you
were anxious on account of the man who followed
me, and in whom I had recognized Jacob, I was even
more anxious myself ; and so I did as you told me,
on the day after that on which I saw you last, when
you said ”

Cornelius interrupted her.

“Once more, pardon me, Rosa I” he cried. “I
was wrong in saying to you what I said. I have
asked your pardon for that unfortunate speech

154 The Black Tulip

before. I ask it again; shall I always ask it in
vain?’^

‘'On the following day/' Rosa continued, "re-
membering what you had told me about the strata-
gem which I was to employ to ascertain whether that
odious man was after the tulip, or after me— ”

" Yes, yes, odious, indeed ! You hate him, don’t
you?"

" I do hate him," said Rosa, "as he is the cause
of all the unhappiness I have suffered these eight
days. ’ ’

" Ah, have you also been unhappy? Thank you
for that word, Rosa."

“Well, on the day after that unfortunate one, I
went down into the garden, and proceeded toward
the bed where I was to plant your tulip, looking
round all the while to see whether I was again
follow^ed as I was before."

" Well?" Cornelius asked.

" Well, the same shadow glided between the gate
and the wall, and once more disappeared behind the
elder-trees. ’ ’

"You pretended not to see him, didn’t you?"
Cornelius asked, remembering all the details of the
advice he had given Rosa.

"Yes; and I stooped over the bed and went to
digging with a spade, as if I were going to put the
bulb in."

" And he — what did he do during all this time?"

" I saw his eyes glisten through the branches of
the tree, like those of a tiger."

“ Do you see, do you see^" cried Cornelius.

" Then, after having finished my make-believe
ivork, I retired."

" But only behind the garden-door, — is it not true,
—so that you might see through the crack or the
ieyhole what he did when you had left?"

" He waited for a moment, very likely to make
;ure of my not coming back; after which he sneaked
>ut from his hiding-place, and approached the bed
)y a long ditotir. At last, having reached his goal.

What had Taken Place 155

— ^that is to say, the spot where the ground was
newly turned, — ^he stopped with a careless air, look-
ing about in all directions, scanned every corner of
the garden, every window of the neighbouring
houses, and looked inquiringly at the earth and the
sky; and thinking himself quite alone, quite isolated,
and out of everybody’s sight, he rushed at the bed,
plunged both his hands into the soft soil, took a
handful of the mould, which he gently broke up
between his fingers to see whether the bulb was in
it, and repeated the same thing twice or three times,
each time more eagerly than the last, — until at last,
as it began to dawn upon him that he had been made
the victim of a fraud, he struggled to calm the agita-
tion which was raging in his breast, took up the
rake, smoothed the ground, so as to leave it at his
departure in the same state that it was before he had
pulled it over, and quite shamefaced and sheepish,
walked back to the door, affecting the unconcerned
air of an ordinary promenaden”

** Oh, the wretch r’ muttered Cornelius, wiping
the perspiration from his brow, — ‘^oh, the wretch!
I guessed his intentions. But the bulb, Rosa, —
what have you done with it? It is already rather
late to plant it, alas

The bulb? It has been in the ground for these*
six days. ”

** Where and how?” cried Cornelius. Good
Heaven, what imprudence! Where is it? In what
sort of soil is it? Has it a good or bad exposure? Is
there no risk of its being stolen by that detestable
Jacob?”

‘‘ There is no danger of its being stolen,” said
Rosa, unless Jacob forces the door of my room.”

“ Oh, then it is always under your eye; it is in
your own room?” said Cornelius, somewhat relieved.
“ But in what soil, in what kind of vessel? You
don’t let it grow in water, I hope, like the good
women of Harlem and Dort, who insist upon it that
water will take the place of earth, — as if water,
which is made up of thirty-three parts of oxygen and

156 The Black Tulip

sixty-six of hydrogen, could — But what am I saying,
Rosa?”

“Yes, it is rather deep for me,’' replied the
maiden, with a smile. “ So I will content myself
with replying, to set your mind at rest, that your
bulb is not in water.”

“ I breathe again.”

“ It is in a good stone pot, just about the size of
the jug in which you planted yours. The soil is com-
posed of three parts of common mould taken from
the best spot of the garden, and one of dirt from the
street. Oh, I have heard you and that detestable
Jacob, as you call him, so often talk about what is
the soil best fitted for growing tulips, that I know
it as well as the first gardener of Harlem. ”

“And now about the exposure. What exposure
has it, Rosa?”

“ At present it has the sun all day long, — that is
to say, when the sun shines. But when it once peeps
out of the ground, and when the sun is hotter, I shall
do as you did here, dear Mynheer Cornelius ; I shall
put it on the sill of my eastern window from eight
in the morning until eleven, and of my western
window from three to five in the afternoon.”

“ That’s it, that’s it !” cried Cornelius ; “ and you
are a perfect gardener, my lovely Rosa. But I am
afraid the nursing of my tulip will take up all your
time.”

“Yes, it will,” said Rosa; “ but what matters it,
for it is your tulip and my daughter. I shall devote
my time to it as I would to my child, if I were
a mother. It is only by becoming its mother,”
Rosa added smilingly, “ that I can cease to be its
rival.”

“Dear, good Rosa!” murmured Cornelius, with
a glance in which there was much more of the lover
than of the gardener, and which afforded Rosa some
consolation.

Then, after a silence of some moments, during
which Cornelius had tried to grasp Rosa’s fleeting
hand through the grating, he said, —

What had Taken Place 157

So the buib has now been in the soil for six
days?'’

‘‘Yes, six days, Mynheer Cornelius," replied the
maiden.

“ And it does not yet show itself?"

“ No; but I think it will to-morrow."

“ Well, then, to-morrow you will bring- me news
of it, and of yourself, won't you, Rosa? I am very
anxious about the daughter, as you called it just
now; but the mother is the object of a much deeper
and different sort of interest to me."

“To-morrow?" said Rosa, looking at Cornelius
askance. “ I don’t know whether I shalf be able to
come to-morrow."

“ Good heavens !" said Cornelius, “ why can't you
come to-morrow?"

“ Mynheer Cornelius, I have a thousand things to
do."

“ While I have only one," muttered Cornelius.

“ Yes," said Rosa, “ to love your tulip."

“ To love you, Rosa."

Rosa shook her head; again there was a pause.

“Well," Cornelius at last broke the silence, —
“ well, Rosa, everything changes in the realm of
Nature ; the flowers of spring are succeeded by other
flowers ; and we see the bees, which so tenderly
caressed the violets and the wallflowers, flutter as
lovingly about the honeysuckles, the rose, the jessa-
mine, the chrysanthemum, and the geranium."

“ What does all this mean?" asked Rosa.

“ It means that you at first took pleasure in hear-
ing me tell of my joy and my sorrow; that you
caressed the flower of our youth, but now mine has
faded in the shadow. The garden of hope and
pleasure of a poor captive knows only one season.
It is not like the lovely gardens which are open to
the air and the sunlight. Once the May harvest is
gathered, and the booty secured, bees like you, Rosa,
— bees with slender bodies and golden antennae and
diaphanous wings, — fly between the bars, leave the
cold and solitude and gloom, to find elsewhere

158 The Black Tulip

sweet odours and the warm breath of summer
flowers.

'' Happy they, at last

Rosa gazed at Cornelius with a loving smile which
he did not see, for his eyes were raised toward
heaven.

He continued, sighing heavily, —

“ You have abandoned me, Rosa, so that you may
have your allotted four seasons of pleasure elsewhere.
You have done well, and I will not complain. What
claim have I to your fidelity?”

‘‘ My fidelity !” Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full
of tears, and no longer caring to hide from Cor-
nelius this dew of pearls rolling down her cheeks, —
'‘my fidelity ! have I not been faithful to you?”

“ Alas ! do you call it faithful to desert me, and to
leave me here to die?”

“ But, Mynheer Cornelius,” said Rosa, “ am I not
doing everything for you that could give you plea-
sure? Have I not devoted myself to your tulip?”

“You are bitter, Rosa; you taunt me with the
only unalloyed pleasure I have had in this Vv^orld. ”

“ I taunt you with nothing, Mynheer Cornelius,
except, perhaps, with the intense grief which I felt
when they told me at the Buytenhof that you were
about to be put to death.”

“ You are displeased, Rosa, my sweet Rosa, with
my intense love for flowers.”

“ I am not displeased with your love for them,
Mynheer Cornelius; only it makes me sad to think
that you love them better than you do me.”

“ Oh, my dear, dear beloved, see how my hands
tremble I see how pale my cheek is, and hear how my
heart beats I Oh, well, it is not because my black
tulip is smiling upon me and calling me, — no; it is
because you are smiling upon me, you, my beloved,
and because you are leaning towards me; it is
because — I do not know if it be true — but because it
seems to me that even while avoiding them, your
hands long to clasp mine, and because I feel the
warmth of your dear, soft cheeks behind the cruel

What had Taken Place 159

bars. Rosa, my love, destroy the bulb of the black
tulip, destroy all hope of seeing that flower bloom,
extinguish the pleasant light of the pure and sooth-
ing fancy which I have become used to dreaming
every day. So be it 1 No more flowers with their
lovely bright robes, their graceful elegance, their
capricious charm; take it all away, O thou flower
who art jealous of thy sisters, — take it all away, but
leave me, I beseech, your voice and your face, the
sound of your step on the staircase; leave me the
light of your eyes in the dark corridor, and the
assurance of your love which pours g balm

into my heart. Love me, Rosa, love me, for I am
sure that I love but you V*

Yes, after the black tulip,** sighed the maiden,
whose warm, soft hands at last abandoned them-
selves through the graacg to the lips of Cornelius.
Before c"' c/Vilr i<r, Rosa.**

** Can I believe you?**

** As you believe in God.**

Weil then, be it so; but loving me does not bind
you to much.**

*^Very little, unfortunately, dear Rosa; but it
binds you, remember.**

Me ! to what does it bind me, pray?** asked
Rosa.

“ First of all, not to marry.**

She smiled.

“ Ah,’* she said, “ what tyrants you all are ! You
worship a beautiful creature ; you think and dream of
nothing but her; you are condemned to death, and
on your way to the scaffold you devote to her your
last sigh; and now demand that I, poor girl, should
sacrifice all my dreams and my ambition.”

But what beautiful creature are you talking
about, Rosa, I beg to know?** said Cornelius, search-
ing his memory in vain for a woman to whom Rosa
might cossibly be alluding.

“ Why, the dark beauty, Mynheer, — the dark
beauty with the graceful form, delicate feet, and
noble held; in short, 1 am speaking of your flower.”

i6o The Black Tulip

Cornelius smiled.

“That is an imaginary lady-love, dear Rosa;
whereas, without counting your, or rather my amor-
ous friend Jacob, you are surrounded by gallants
eager to make love to you. Do you remember, Rosa,
what you told me of the students, officers, and clerks
of the Hague? Are there no clerks, officers, or
students at Lcewestein?’’

“ Indeed there are, plenty of them.’^

“ Who write letters ?*'

“ Who write letters.’'

“ And now that you know how to read ”

Here Cornelius heaved a sigh at the thought that,
poor captive as he was, to him alone Rosa owed
the faculty of reading the love-letters which she
received.

“ Ah,” said Rosa, “ it seems to me that in read-
ing the notes addressed to me, and carefully scrutiniz-
ing the gallants who present themselves, I am only
f - * ■‘'j; your instructions. ”

* .iswso? My instructions?”

“Yes, your instructions,” said Rosa, sighing in
her turn; “have you h'. the will written by
your hand in the Bible of Cornelius de Witt? I have
not forgotten it; for now that I know how to read,
I read it every day, and twice a day oftener than
once. In that will you bid me love and marry a
handsome young man of twenty-six or eight years.
I am on the look-out for that young man ; and as the
whole of my day is taken up with your tulip, you
must leave my evenings free to find him.”

“ But, Rosa, the will was made in the expectation
of death, and, thank Heaven, I am still alive.”

“ Weil, then, I will not look for the handsome
young man of twenty-six or twenty-eight, and I will
come and see you.”

“ Ah, do, Rosa ! Come, come !”

“ On one condition!”

“ Granted beforehand!”

“ That the black tulip shall not be mentioned for
the next three days.”

The Second Bulb i6i

It shall never be mentioned any more if you wish
it, Rosa.’'

Oh,’^ the damsel said, “ I will not ask for im-
possibilities.”

As she spoke she put her fresh cheek, as if uncon-
sciously, so near the iron grating that Cornelius was
able to touch it with his lips.

Rosa uttered a little exclamation of love, and dis-
appeared.

CHAPTER XXI

THE SECOND BULB

It was a beautiful night, and the next day was
finer still.

During the last few days the prison had been dull
and dark and dismal; it bore heavily with all its
weight on the unfortunate captive. Its walls were
black, its air chilling ; the iron bars seemed so close
together as scarcely to admit the daylight.

But when Cornelius awoke, a beam of the morning
sun was playing among the iron bars ; pigeons were
hovering about with outspread wings, and others
were lovingly cooing on the roof near the still closed
window.

Cornelius ran to the window and opened it; it
seemed to him as if life and joy, and almost liberty,
entered his gloomy cell with the ray of sunlight.
Love was blooming there, and causing everything
about it to bloom as well, — ^love, that heavenly flower
with a radiance and a perfume far different from all
the flowers of earth !

When Gryphus entered the prisoner’s cell, instead
of finding him sullen and still in bed, as on other
occasions, lo ! he was standing at the window, and
singing a little air from some opera. Gryphus looked
at him surlily.

“ Halloa 1” he exclaimed.

“ How are you this morning?” asked Cornelius.

Again Gryphus scowled at him.

1 62 The Black Tulip

“ And the dog- and Master Jacob and our fair Rosa
— ^how are they all?”

Gryphus ground his teeth.

‘‘ Here is your breakfast,” he growled.

Thank you, friend Cerberus,” said the prisoner
** you are just in time, for I am very hungry.”

Oh, you’re hungry, are you?” said Gryphus.

“ Why not, pray?” asked Van Baerle.

‘‘The conspiracy seems to be prospering,” re
marked Gryphus.

“ What conspiracy?”

“ Oh, yes ! I know what they all say; but we wil
keep a good watch, my learned friend, — never fear
we will keep a good watch. ’ ’

“Watch away, friend Gryphus, watch away; m]
conspiracy, as well as my person, is entirely at you
service. ’ ’

“We’ll see about that this noon.”

With this Gryphus left the room.

“ This noon !” repeated Cornelius. “ What doei
that mean? Well, let us wait until noon, and thei
we shall see.”

It was very easy for Cornelius to wait for noon, foi
he was waiting for nine at night.

It struck twelve, and he heard on the staircase no
only the steps of Gryphus, but with them those o
three or four soldiers who were coming up with him,

The door opened, Gryphus entered, led his men in
and shut the door after them.

“ There, now search !”

They searched Cornelius’s pockets, and also be
tween his jacket and his waistcoat, between his waist
coat and his shirt, and beneath his shirt ; they founc
nothing.

They then searched the sheets, the mattress, anc
the straw of his bed, and again they found nothing.

Great was the silent satisfaction of Cornelius thal
he had not taken the third bulb under his own care.
Gryphus would have been sure to ferret it out in the
search, however carefully it was concealed, and v/oulc
then have treated it as he did the first.

The Second Bulb 163

As it was, no prisoner ever looked on at the
execution of a search-warrant in his cell with more
serenity than Cornelius exhibited on this occasion.

Gryphus retired with the pencil and the two or
three leaves of white paper which Rosa had given to
Van Baerle; this was the only trophy brought back
from the expedition.

At six Gryphus came again, but alone. Cornelius
tried to propitiate him ; but Gryphus growled, showed
a great fang which he had in the corner of his mouth,
and went out backward like a man who is afraid of
being attacked from behind.

Cornelius burst out laughing; whereupon Gryphus,
who had read somewhat, shouted at him through the
grating,—

“All right, all right! ‘He laughs best who
laughs last.' "

Cornelius laughed last, — on that occasion at least,
for he was expecting Rosa.

Rosa came at nine. She was wuthout a lantern.
She no longer needed a light, for she knew how to
read; moreover, the light might betray her, as Jacob
kept a more persistent * than ever upon her ;

and lastly, in the light ner tiusned cheeks would have
been too perceptible when she blushed.

Of what did the young people talk that evening?
Of those matters of which lovers talk at the house-
doors in France, on opposite sides of a balcony in
Spain, and from the top to the bottom of a terrace in
the Orient.

They talked of those things which add wings to
the feet of the hours, and put additional feathers into
the wings of time.

They talked of everything except the black tuHp.

At last, when the clock struck ten, they parted as
usual.

Cornelius was happy, — as thoroughly happy as a
tulip-fancier could be who had had no chance to talk
about his tulip.

He found Rosa as fair as all the loves; he found
her sweet and lovely and charming.

164 The Black Tulip

But why did Rosa object to the tulip being men-
tioned ?

This was indeed a great defect in Rosa.

Cornelius confessed to himself, with a sigh, that
woman was not perfect.

Part of the night he thought of this imperfection, —
that is to say, as long as he was awake he thought
of Rosa.

After he fell asleep he dreamed of her.

But the Rosa of his dreams was by far more per-
fect than the Rosa of real life. Not only did she
speak of the tulip, but she brought him a magnificent
black one in a china vase.

Cornelius awoke trembling with joy, and whisper-
ing,—

‘‘ Rosa, Rosa, I love you !**

And as it was already day he thought it best not
to fall asleep again ; so he passed the whole day dwell-
ing upon the thought that was in his mind when he
awoke.

Ah, if Rosa had only conversed about the tulip,
Cornelius would have preferred her to Semiramis or
Cleopatra, to Queen Elizabeth or Anne of Austria, —
that is to say, to the greatest or most beautiful
queens whom the world has seen.

But Rosa had forbidden it under pain of not return-
ing. Rosa had forbidden the least mention of the
tulip for three days.

That meant seventy-two hours given to the lover
to be sure ; but it was seventy-two hours stolen from
the horticulturist.

^ It was true that of the seventy-two hours, thirty-
six had passed already ; and the remaining thirty-six
would pass quickly enough,- -eighteen in waiting
for the evening’s interview, and eighteen in think-
ing about it.

Rosa came at the same hour ; and Cornelius under-
went his penance most heroically. He would have
made a most eminent Pythagorean, would Cor-
nelius; and if he might only have inquired about
his tulip once a day, he would have willingly gone

The Second Bulb 165

five years, according- to the statutes of the order,
without talking at all.

His fair visitor, however, was well aware that
when one’s orders are obeyed on one point one must
yield on another; therefore Rosa allowed Cornelius
to draw her hands through the little window and to
kiss her golden locks through the bars.

Poor child ! all these little lovers’ tricks were much
more dangerous than speaking of the tulip. She
became aware of the fact when she returned to her
room with a beating heart, glowing cheeks, burning
lips, and moist eyes.

And soon the following evening, after the first
greetings and endearments, she looked at him
through the bars in the darkness, with the expres-
sion which one can feel even when one does not see it.

Well,” she said, ** it has come up.”

“It has come up! Who? What?” asked Cor-
nelius, hardly daring to believe that Rosa would of
her own accord abridge the term of his probation.

“ The tulip,” said Rosa.

“What!” cried Cornelius; “you give me per-
mission, then?”

“ Oh, yes !” Rosa replied, in the tone of an affec-
tionate mother when she allows her child to indulge
some wish.

“Ah, Rosa!” said Cornelius, putting his lips to
the grating, with the hope of touching a cheek, a
hand, a forehead, — anything, in short.

He touched something much better, — ^two warm
and half-open lips.

Rosa uttered a slight scream.

Cornelius understood that he must make haste to
continue the conversation. He guessed that this un-
expected kiss had frightened Rosa.

“ Is it growing up straight?” he asked.

“ Straight as a Frisian distaff,” said Rosa.

“ How high?”

“ At least two inches.”

“ Oh, Rosa, take good care of it, and you will see
how fast it will grow.”

“ I think

i66 The Black Tulip

“ Can I take more care of it?’’ said she.

of nothing else.”

nothing else, Rosa? Take care, or I shall
take my turn at being jealous.”

‘‘Oh, you know that to think of the tulip is to
think of you. I never lose sight of it ; I see it from
my bed, — when I awake it is the first object that
meets my eyes, and the last on which they rest before
I fall asleep ; during the day I sit and work by its
side, for I have hardly left my chamber since i put
it there.”

“You are right, Rosa; it is your dowry, you
know. ’ ’

“Yes; and, thanks to it, I may marry a young
man of twenty-six or twenty-eight years, with whom
I shall fall in love.”

“ Hush, you bad girl!”

That evening Cornelius was the happiest of men.
Rosa allowed him to hold her hand as long as he
chose to keep it ; and he talked about his tulip to his
heart’s content.

From that hour every day marked some progress
in the growth of the tulip and in the affection of the
two young people. At one time the news was that
the leaves had expanded, and at another that the
flower Itself had formed.

Great was the joy of Cornelius at this news; and
his questions succeeded each other with a rapidity
which gave proof of their importance.

“Formed!” exclaimed Cornelius; “has it really
formed?”

“ It has,” repeated Rosa.

Cornelius trembled so with joy that he was obliged
to hold by the grating.

“ Good heavens 1” he exclaimed.

Then he turned to Rosa again, —

“ Is the oval regular, the cylinder full, and are
the points very green?”

“ The ova! is almost one inch long, and as slender
as a needle, the cylinder swells at the sides, and the
points ate ready to open ”

The Second Bulb 167

That nigfht Cornelius scarcely slept ; for the moment
when the points were about to open was one of
supreme importance.

Two days later Rosa announced that they were open.

"'Open, RosaT’ cried Cornelius, "the involucre
is open? But in that case, do you see, can you
make out ’’

Here the prisoner paused, gasping for breath.

" Yes,” answered Rosa; " I can already make out
a thread of different colour, as thin as a hair/’

"And its colour?” asked Cornelius, trembling.

" Oh,” answered Rosa, "it is very deep.”

" Brown?”

" Deeper than that.”

" Deeper, good Rosa, deeper? Thank Heaven !
Deep as ebony? deep as ”

" Black as the ink with which I wrote to you.”

Cornelius uttered a cry of mad joy.

Then suddenly stopping and clasping his hands,
he said, —

" Oh, there is not an angel in heaven to be com-
pared to you, Rosa !”

" Really !” said Rosa, smiling at his exaltation.

' ‘ Rosa, you have worked with such ardour ; you
have done so much for me ! Rosa, my tulip is about
to flower, and its flower will be black 1 Rosa, Rosa,
you are the most perfect of God’s creatures !”

" Next to the tulip, you mean.”

"Ah, be quiet, you rogue, be quiet, and in pity’s
name do not spoil my pleasure ! But tell me, Rosa,
as the tulip is so far advanced, it will flower in two
or three days at the latest?”

"To-morrow, or the day after.”

"Ah, and I shall not see it!” cried Cornelius,
starting back; " I shall not kiss it, as a wonderful
work of the Almighty which one should adore, — as I
kiss your hand and your cheek, Rosa, when by
chance they are near the grating. ”

Rosa advanced her cheek, not by chance, but by
design, and the young man’s lips eagerly fastened
upon it.

i68 The Black Tulip

Faith, I will cut it, if you say so.’’

** Oh, no, no, Rosa! When it is open, place it
carefully in the shade, and immediately send a mes-
sage to Harlem to give notice to the president of the
Horticultural Society that the great black tulip is
in flower. I know it is far to Harlem; but with
money you will find a messenger. Have you any
money, Rosa?”

Rosa smiled.

‘‘ Oh, yes !” she said.

** Enough?” asked Cornelius.

I have three hundred florins.”

“ Oh, if you have three hundred, you must not
send a messenger, but you must go to Harlem your-
self, — ^yourself, Rosa!”

“ But what is to become of the flower mean-
while?”

Oh, the flower you must take with you; for you
understand that you must not let it out of your sight
for an instant. ’ ’

“ But in keeping sight of the tulip I lose sight of
you. Mynheer Cornelius.”

‘‘ Ah, that’s true, my dear, sweet Rosa. Oh, my
God, how wicked men are ! What have I done to
them, and why have they deprived me of my liberty?
You are right, Rosa, — I cannot live without you.
Well, you will send some one to Harlem ; that’s
settled. Upon my soul, it’s enough of a miracle for
the president to put himself to some trouble ! He
will come himself to Loewestein to see the tulip.”

Then suddenly checking himself, he murmured,
with a faltering voice, —

” Rosa, Rosa, suppose it should not be black, after
all?”

“ Oh, you will know surely to-morrow or the day
after, in the evening.”

To have to wait until evening to know it, Rosa !
I shall die with impatience. Could we not agree
about a signal?”

” I will do better than that.”

What will you do?”

The Blooming of the Flower 169

If it opens at night, I will come and tell you
myself; if it is in the daytime, I will pass your door,
and slip a note either under the door or through the
grating during the time between my father’s first
and second visit.”

‘‘ Oh, yes, let us leave it so, Rosa ! To learn the
glad news by a word from you will be a double happi-
ness.”

There, it’s ten o’clock,” said Rosa, “ and I must
leave you. ”

Yes, yes !” said Cornelius; “ go, Rosa, go!”

Rosa withdrew, almost sadly ; for Cornelius had all
but sent her away.

To be sure he did it so that she might watch over
the black tulip I

CHAPTER XXII

THE BLOOMING OF THE FLOWER

Cornelius passed a pleasant night, but one of
great excitement. Every instant he fancied he heard
the gentle voice of Rosa calling him. He would
awake with a start, rush to the door, and put his
face to the grating; but no one was behind it, and
the corridor was empty.

Rosa, no doubt, was watching too; but, more for-
tunate than he, she was watching over the tulip ; she
had before her eyes that noble flower, that wonder of
wonders, which not only was unknown theretofore,
but was even thought impossible of attainment.

What would the world say, when it was known
that the black tulip was found, that it existed, and
that it was the prisoner Van Baerle who had found
it?

How Cornelius would have spurned the offer of his
liberty in exchange for his tulip !

Day came, without any news; the tulip was not
yet in flower.

1 70 The Black Tulip

The day passed like the nigfht; night came, and
with it Rosa, joyous and cheerful as a bird,

‘‘ Well?^’ asked Cornelius.

Well, all is going on prosperously. This night,
without any doubt, your tulip will be in flower. ’ ’

And will it be black?’’

Black as jet.”

“ Without a speck of any other colour?”

Without one speck.”

“ Oh, how kind is Heaven ! My dear Rosa, I have
been dreaming all night, in the first place, of you ”
(Rosa made a sign of incredulity), ‘‘ and then of
what we must do.”

“Weil?”

“Weil, this is what I have decided on : the tulip
once being in flower, when it is quite certain that it
is black, and absolutely black, you must find a mes-
senger.”

“If that is all, I have found a messenger
already. ’ ’

“ Is he reliable?”

“ One for whom I will answer; he is one of my
lovers. ’ ’

“ I hope not Jacob.”

“No, never fear; it is the ferryman of Loewestein,
— a smart young fellow of twenty-five or six.”

“The devil 1”

“Don’t be alarmed,” laughed Rosa; “he is still
under age, for you yourself fixed it at from twenty-
six to twenty-eight.”

“But do you think you can rely on this young
man?”

‘ ‘ As surely as on myself ; he would throw himself
from his boat into the Waal or the Meuse as I chose,
if I bade him.”

“Well, Rosa, this lad can be at Harlem in ten
hours. You will give me paper and pencil, or better
still, pen and ink, and I will write, or rather, on
second thoughts, you must, for if I did it, being a
poor prisoner, people might, like your father, see a
conspiracy in it, — ^you will write to the president of

The Blooming of the Flower 171

the Horticultural Society, and I am sure lie will
come.

“ But if he delays?’’

Well, let us suppose that he delays one day, or
even two ; but it is impossible. A tulip-fancier, such
as he is, will not delay one hour, not one minute, not
one second, to set out to see the eighth wonder of
the world. But, as I said, if he did delay one or even
two days, the tulip will still be in its full splendour.
The flower having once been seen by the president,
and the official report drawn up by him, everything
will be complete; you will keep a duplicate of the
report, and entrust the tulip to him. Ah, if we had
been able to carry it ourselves, Rosa, it would never
have left my hands but to pass into yours ! But this
is a dream which we must not entertain,” continued
Cornelius, with a sigh; other eyes will see dt
flower. Above all, Rosa, before the president has
seen it, let it not be seen by any one. The black
tulip — Great God, if any one saw the black tulip, it
would be stolen 1”

.. Oh!”

Did you not tell me yourself what you appre-
hended from your love-sick Jacob? People will steal
one florin, why not a hundred thousand?”

I will watch, never fear !”

“ But suppose it opened while you are here?”

“ The capricious creature would indeed be quite
capable of it,” said Rosa.

“ And if on your return you find it open?”

“Weil?”

“ Oh, Rosa, whenever it opens, remember that
not a moment must be lost in letting the president
know. ’ ’

“ And you as well. Yes, I understand.”

Rosa heaved a sigh, entirely without bitterness,
but like a woman who at last begins to comprehend
the weakness of one she loves, even though she can-
not accustom herself to it.

“Now I am going back to your tulip, Mynheer
van Baerie, and the instant it opens you shall be

172 The Black Tulip

informed; and then the messenger can start at
once/’

“ Oh, Rosa, Rosa, Tm sure I don’t know to what
one of all the marvels of heaven or earth to liken
you!^^

Liken me to the black tulip, Mynheer Cornelius,
and I shall feel highly flattered, I assure you. Now
we must say au revoir, Mynheer Cornelius.”

Oh, say, * Au revoir, my friend !’ ”

/Iw revoify my friend,” said Rosa, somewhat
comforted.

“ Say, * My beloved friend !’ ”

“ Oh, my friend ”

Beloved, Rosa, I entreat you ! Beloved, beloved,
am I not?”

“ Beloved? Yes, — beloved,” said Rosa, almost
light-headed with joy.

'‘And now that you have said ‘beloved,’ dear
Rosa, say also ‘ most happy ; ’ say ‘ happier and more
blessed than ever man was under the sun.’ I only
lack one thing, Rosa.”

“ And that is?”

“ Your cheek, — ^your fresh cheek, your soft, rosy
cheek. Oh, Rosa, give it me of your own free will,
and not by chance. Ah !”

The prisoner’s prayer ended in a sigh of ecstasy;
his lips met those of the maiden, — not by chance, nor
by stratagem, but as Saint-Preux’s was to meet the
lips of Julie a hundred years later.

Rosa made her escape,

Cornelius stood with his heart upon his lips, and
his face glued to the wicket in the door.

He was fairly choking with happiness and joy. He
opened his window, and gazed long, with swelling
heart, at the cloudless vault of heaven, and the
moon, which shone like silver upon the two-fold
stream flowing from far beyond the hills. He filled
his lungs with the pure, sweet air, while his brain
dwelt upon thoughts of happiness, and his heart over-
flowed with gratitude and religious fervour.

“ Oh, Thou art always watching from on high, my

The Blooming of the Flower 173

God/’ he cried half prostrate, his gflowing* eyes fixed
upon the stars; ** forgive me, that I almost doubted
Thy existence during these latter days, for Thou didst
hide Thy face behind the clouds, and wert for a
moment lost to my sight, O Thou merciful God, Thou
pitying Father everlasting! But to-day, this even-
ing, and to-night, again I see Thee in all Thy won-
drous glory in the mirror of Thy heavenly abode, and
more clearly still in the mirror of my grateful heart. ”

He was well again, the poor invalid ; the wretched
captive was free once more.

During part of the night Cornelius remained at
his barred window, with ear on the alert, and his
five senses all concentrated in one, or rather in two,
for he used his eyes while he was listening.

He gazed at the stars, and listened for sounds on
earth.

From time to time he turned his eyes toward the
corridor.

“ There,” he would say, “ is Rosa, — Rosa, watch-
ing as I am, and like me waiting from moment to
moment. There, under her eyes, is the mysterious
flower, which is alive, is peeping out from its bud,
nay, is opening ; perhaps at this very moment Rosa is
holding the stem of the tulip in her soft, warm
fingers. Touch the stem gently, Rosa ! Perhaps
she is touching the half-opened calyx with her lips.
Breathe carefully upon it, Rosa, dear Rosa, for your
lips may burn it ! Perhaps at this instant my two
loves are kissing each other, with only God to see.”

At that moment a star blazed up in the southern
heaven, shot across the intervening space, and seemed
to fall upon Loewestein.

Cornelius was startled.

” Ah,” said he, ” it is God sending a soul to enter
into my flower !”

And as if he had guessed aright, almost at the
same instant the prisoner heard a step in the corridor
light as a fairy’s, and the rustling of a dress which
sounded like the beating of a bird’s wings; and a
well-known voice said, —

174 The Black Tulip

“ Cornelius, my friend, my dearly beloved and
happy friend, come, come quickly

Cornelius took only one step from the window
to the door, and agfain his lips encountered the lips
of Rosa, who whispered as she kissed him, —

It has opened, and is as black as night; here it

is.’’

'' What ! here?” cried Cornelius, taking away his
lips.

Yes, yes ! I had to run a little risk for the sake
of a great pleasure. Here it is, see ! Take it/’

With one hand she raised to the height of the
wicket a little dark lantern; then she showed the
light, while with the other band she raised the mar-
vellous tulip to the same height.

Cornelius gave a great cry, and felt as if he must
swoon.

Oh, my God, my God,” he murmured, how
dost Thou recompense me for my loss of freedom,
innocent though I be, in vouchsafing me two such
flowers at the wicket of my cell ! ’ ’

**Kiss it,” said Rosa, as I kissed it but this
moment.”

Cornelius, hardly daring to breathe, touched the
tip of the flower with his lips; and never did kiss
upon woman’s lips, even though they were such lips
Rosa’s, touch the heart so deeply.

The tulip was lovely, magnificent, superb ; its stalk
was more than eighteen inches high; it grew from
the folds of four green leaves, slender and straight
as lance-shafts ; and the whole of the flower was as
black and shining as jet.

‘‘Rosa,” said Cornelius, whose breath came
quickly , — ** Rosa, we have not a moment to lose ; the
letter must be written.”

It is all written, my beloved Cornelius,” replied
Rosa.

‘‘Really?”

“ While the tulip was opening I wrote it myself,
for I did not wish to lose a moment. Here is the
letter; tell me whether you approve of it.”

The Blooming of the Flower 175

Cornelius took the letter, and read, in a hand
writing which was much improved even since th«
little note he had received from Rosa, as follows : —

Mynheer President, — ^The black tulip is about to open
perhaps in ten minutes. As soon as it is open I shall send i
messenger to you to entreat you to come in person and see i
here at the fortress of Loewestein. I am the daughter of th«
jailer Gryphus, and almost as much a prisoner as the prisoner
of my father. I cannot, therefore, bring you this marvel
This IS the reason why I venture to beg you to come and see i
yourself.

It is my wish that it should be called Rosa Barljensis.**

It has opened; it is perfectly black; come, Mynheer Presi
dent, come!

I have the honour to be your humble servant,

Rosa Gryphus.

“That's splendid, dear Rosa, splendid! Youi
letter is admirable! I could never have written il
with such simplicity. You will give the committee
all the information that is asked of you. They wil
then know how the tulip has been grown ; how much
care and anxiety and how many sleepless nights it has
cost. But now, not a moment must be lost, Rosa.
The messenger, the messenger!”

“ What is the president’s name?”

“ Give me the letter, I will direct it. Oh, he is
very well known; he is Mynheer van Systens, the
burgomi'sitr of iHarlem; give it me, Rosa, give it
me.

And with a trembling hand, Cornelius wrote upon
the letter, —

“ To Mynheer Peters van Systens, Burgomaster, and Presi-
dent of the Horticultural Society of Harlem.”

Now, go, Rosa, go,’* said Cornelius, “ and let
us implore the protection of God, who has so kindly
watched over us until now.*’

176 The Black Tulip

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ENVIOUS MAN

In truth, the poor young: people were in great need
of the direct protection and care of the Lord.

They had never been so near the destruction of
their hopes as at this moment, when they thought
themselves certain of their happiness.

We have too much faith in the intelligence of our
readers to doubt that they long ago recognized in
Jacob our old friend, or rather enemy, Isaac Boxtel.

Therefore the reader has guessed, no doubt, that
this worthy had followed from the Buytenhof to
Loewestein the object of his love and the object of his
hatred, — the black tulip and Cornelius van Baerle.

What no one but a tulip-fancier, and an envious
tulip-fancier at that, could have discovered, — the
existence of the bulbs and the prisoner’s ambition,—
envy had enabled Boxtel, if not to discover, at least
to imagine.

We have seen him, more successful under the name
of Jacob than under that of Isaac, gain the friend-
ship of Gryphus, whose gratitude and hospitality he
watered for several months with the best gin ever
distilled from the Texel to Antwerp.

He lulled the suspicion of the jailer, for we have
seen how suspicious old Gryphus was ; he set his sus-
picions at rest by flattering him with the idea of a
marriage with Rosa.

Moreover, he fondled his jailer’s instinct, while
he flattered his paternal ambition, by painting in the
blackest colours the learned prisoner whom Gryphus
had in his keeping, and who, according to the
disant Jacob, had entered into a league with Satan
to destroy his Highness the Prince of Orange.

At first he had also made some way with Rosa;
not, indeed, by arousing any sympathetic feeling, for
Rosa was far from being in love with him, but be-
cause, by talking to her of marriage and of love, he

The Envious Man 177

had put to, flight all the suspicions which he might
otherwise have excited.

We have seen how his imprudence in following
Rosa into the garden had unmasked him in the eyes
of the young damsel, and how the instinctive fears
of Cornelius had put the two lovers on their guard
against him.

The reader will remember that the prisoner’s
anxiety was principally aroused by what Rosa had
told him of Jacob’s fit of passion against Gryphus on
account of the bulb he crushed. At that moment
Boxtel’s exasperation was the greater because,
though suspecting that Cornelius possessed a second
bulb, he was by no means sure of it.

From that moment he kept an incessant watch
upon Rosa, not only following her into the garden,
but in the corridors as well.

Only, as he now followed her in the night and
bare-footed, he was neither seen nor heard, except
on one occasion, when Rosa thought she saw some-
thing like a shadow on the staircase.

Her discovery, however, was made too late, as
Boxtel had heard from the mouth of the prisoner
himself that a second bulb existed.

A victim of the stratagem of Rosa, who had made
a pretence of putting it in the bed, and with no doubt
that this little farce had been played in order to force
him to betray himself, he redoubled his precaution,
and employed every means suggested by his crafty
nature to continue to spy upon the others without
being seen himself.

He saw Rosa conveying a large earthen pot from
her father’s kitchen to her bedroom.

He saw Rosa washing her pretty little hands, all
grimy with the mould which she had kneaded, to
give her tulip the best bed possible.

At last he hired, just opposite Rosa’s window, a
little attic, distant enough not to allow him to be
recognized with the naked eye, but sufficiently near
to enable him, with the help of his telescope, to
watch everything that was going on at Loewestein in

N

lyS The Black Tulip

Rosa’s room, just as at Dort he had watched every-
thing that took place in Cornelius’s drying-room.

He had not been installed more than three days in
his attic before all his doubts were removed.

At early dawn the flower-pot was in the window;
and like the charming female figures of Mieris and
Metzys, Rosa would appear at the window as in a
frame formed by the first budding sprays of the
virgin’s bower and the honeysuckle.

Rosa watched the flower-pot with an interest
which betrayed to Boxtel the real value of the object
enclosed in it.

The object in the pot must be the second bulb ;
that is to say, the prisoner’s last reliance.

When the nights threatened to be too cold, Rosa
took in the flower-pot.

This was in accordance with the instructions of
Cornelius, who was afraid of the bulb being killed
by frost.

When the sun became too hot, Rosa likewise took
in the pot from eleven in the morning until two in
the afternoon.

Another one of Cornelius’s injunctions, for he was
afraid that the soil would become too dry.

But when the point of the bud appeared above the
earth, Boxtel was fully convinced; and it had not
grown to the height of an inch before, thanks to his
telescope, the envious fellow’s last doubts vanished.

Cornelius possessed two bulbs, and the second was
entrusted to the love and care of Rosa.

For it may well be imagined that the tender secret
of the two lovers had not escaped the prying curi-
osity of Boxtel.

The question, therefore, was how to find means to
wrest the second bulb from the tender care of Rosa,
and the afl^ection of Cornelius.

But this was no easy task.

Rosa watched over her tulip as a mother over her
child ; yes, more sedulously even than a mother, — she
was as devoted as a dove who is hatching her eggs.

Rosa never left her room during the day, and more

The Envious Man 179

than that, strange to say, she no longer left it in the
evening.

For seven days Boxtel watched Rosa to no
purpose ; she was always at her post.

These were the seven days of misunderstanding,
which made Cornelius so unhappy, depriving him at
the same time of all news of Rosa and of his tulip.

Would the coolness between Rosa and Cornelius
last for ever? This would have made the theft much
more difficult than Mynheer Isaac had at first ex-
pected.

We say the theft, for Isaac had very easily
adopted the plan of stealing the tulip. And as it
was being reared in the most profound secrecy; as
the two young people were keeping it from all the
world; as the word of a well-known tulip-fancier
would be believed as against that of a maiden who
was utterly ignorant of all the minutise of horti-
culture, or of a prisoner undergoing sentence for
high treason, and who could hardly be heard from
the depths of his dungeon, even though he should
protest; moreover, as he would be in possession of
the tulip, which fact, in the matter of chattels, carries
a presumption of right, — ^he could not fail to obtain
the prize, and to be crowned with honour instead of
Cornelius ; and then the tulip, instead of being called
“ Tulipa nigra Barlaensis,’* would go down to
posterity under the name of “ TuHpa nigra Boxtel-
lensis ’’ or ‘‘ Boxtellea.”

Mynheer Isaac had not yet quite decided which of
these two names he would give to the tulip ; but as
both meant the same thing, this was not the point of
the utmost importance.

That point was to steal the tulip.

Now, in order that Boxtel might steal the tulip,
it was necessary that Rosa should leave her room.

Great, therefore, was the joy of Jacob, or Isaac,
as you choose, when he saw the usual evening meet-
ings of the lovers resumed.

He first of all took advantage of Rosa’s absence
to make a careful examination of the door of her

i8o The Black Tulip

chamber. The door fitted tightly, and the key had
to be turned twice in the lock, which was, however,
a simple one ; but no one save Rosa had a key.

Boxtel at first thought of stealing her key; but
not only was it exceedingly difficult to rummage in
her pocket, but when she perceived her loss, she
would have her lock changed, and would not leave
her room until it was done. So that he would have
committed a crime for nothing.

He thought it, therefore, better to employ a differ-
ent expedient. He collected as many keys as he
could, and tried all of them during one of those
delightful hours which Rosa and Cornelius passed
together at the wicket in the cell-door.

Two of the keys would enter the lock, and one of
them would turn once, but not the second time.

There was, therefore, only a slight change to be
made in this key.

Boxtel covered it with a slight coat of wax, and
tried again, when the obstacle which prevented the
key from being turned a second time left its im-
pression on the wax.

Boxtel had only to follow that impression with a
file as thin as the blade of a knife.

In two more days his key fitted perfectly.

Rosa’s door thus opened without noise and with-
out the use of force, and Boxtel found himself in the
maiden’s chamber, tSte-a-tete with the tulip.

His first guilty act had been to climb over a wall
in order to dig up the tulip ; the second, to introduce
himself into Cornelius’s drying-room through an
open window; and the third to enter Rosa’s room
by means of a false key.

Thus envy urged Boxtel on with rapid steps in the
career of crime.

Boxtel, as we have said, was alone with the tulip.

A common thief would have taken the pot under
his arm, and carried it off.

But Boxtel was not a common thief, and he
reflected.

He reflected as he gazed upon the tulip, by the

The Envious Man i8i

light of his dark lantern, that it was not yet suffi-
ciently forward for him to be absolutely certain that
the flower would be black, although present appear-
ances made it more than probable.

He reflected that if its flower were not black, or if
the black were not spotless, he would have made him-
self a thief to no purpose.

He reflected that the report of the theft would
spread, that suspicion would fall upon him after
what had taken place in the garden, that search
would be made, and that no matter how well it
might be hidden, the tulip might be found.

He reflected that if he hid the tulip so that
it could not be found, it might be injured in all
the changes of place which it would have to
undergo.

Finally he concluded that it would be better, since
he had the key of Rosa’s chamber, and might enter
whenever he liked, to wait for the blooming, and to
take it either an hour before or after it opened, and
to start on the instant for Harlem, where the tulip
would be before the judges before any one else could
lay claim to it.

Then it would be for Boxtel to charge the one
who claimed it after that with theft.

This was a deep-laid scheme, and quite worthy of
its author.

Thus, every evening during that delightful hour
which the two lovers passed together at the wicket,
Boxtel entered the maiden’s chamber to watch the
progress which the black tulip was making toward
flowering.

On the evening at which we have arrived, he made
his preparations to go in as usual; but the young
people, as we have seen, only exchanged a few words
before Cornelius sent Rosa back to watch over the
tulip.

Seeing Rosa enter her room ten minutes after she
had left it, Boxtel guessed that the tulip had
opened, or was about to open.

During that night, therefore, the great blow was

1 82 The Black Tulip

to be struck; so Boxtel presented himself at
Gryphus’s door with a double supply of gin, — that
is to say, with a bottle in each pocket.

Gryphus being once tipsy, Boxtel was very nearly
master of the house.

At eleven o’clock Gryphus was dead drunk. At
two in the morning Boxtel saw Rosa leaving the
chamber; but she held in her arms something which
she carried with great care.

He did not doubt that this was the black tulip in
flower.

But what was she going to do with it? Did she
propose to start for Harlem with it herself on the
instant ?

It was not possible that a young girl would under-
take such a journey alone during the night.

Was she only going to show the tulip to Cor-
nelius^ This was more likely.

He followed Rosa with bare feet, and walking on
tiptoe.

He saw her approach the wicket.

He heard her calling Cornelius.

By the light of the dark-lantern he saw the tulip
in full flower, and as black as the darkness in which
he was hidden.

He heard the plan concerted between Cornelius
and Rosa to send a messenger to Harlem, He saw
the lips of the lovers meet, and then heard Cornelius
send Rosa away.

He saw Rosa extinguish the light, and return to
her chamber. Ten minutes later he saw her leave
the room again, and close the door carefully, and
turn the key twice.

Boxtel, who saw all this from his hiding-place on
the landing-place of the staircase above Rosa’s
apartment, descended a step from his for every one
that Rosa descended from hers; so that when her
light foot touched the lowest step of the staircase,
Boxtel touched, with a still lighter hand, the lock
of Rosa’s chamber.

And in that hand, it must be understood, he held

Black Tulip changes Masters 183

the false key, which opened Rosa’s door as easily as
did the real one.

And that is why, at the beginning of the chapter,
we said that the poor young people were in great
need of the direct protection of the Lord.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN WHICH THE BLACK TULIP CHANGES MASTERS

Cornelius remained standing on the spot where
Rosa had left him, almost overpowered by the two-
fold weight of his happiness.

Half-an-hour passed away. The first rosy streaks
of dawn were Ix'!./' to make their way through
the bars of Cornelius’s window when he was sud-
denly startled to hear steps coming hurriedly up the
staircase, and cries approaching nearer and nearer.

Almost at the same instant his gaze fell upon the
pale and distracted face of Rosa.

He recoiled, himself turning pale with fright.

** Cornelius, Cornelius !” she screamed, gasping
for breath.

“ For God’s sake, what is it?” asked the prisoner.

” Cornelius ! the tulip ”

“Well?”

“ Oh, how can I tell you?”

“ Speak, speak, Rosa!’^

“ Some one has taken it from us, — some one has
stolen it !”

“ Some one has taken it from us, — some one has
stolen it?” shrieked Cornelius.

“ Yes,” said Rosa, leaning against the door to
support herself; ” yes, taken, stolen!”

In spite of her efforts, her limbs failed her, and
she fell on her knees.

“But how? Tell me, explain to me !’*

“ Oh, it is not my fault, my friend.”

Poor Rosa! she no longer dared to call him “ My
beloved.”

184 The Black Tulip

'‘You must have left it alone/’ exclaimed Cor-
nelius, ruefully.

“ One minute only, to go and tell our messenger,
who lives scarcely fifty yards off, on the banks of
the Waal.”

“ And during that time, notwithstanding all my
injunctions, you left the key in the door, unfortunate
child!”

“ No, no, no! that is what I cannot understand.
The key was never out of my hands ; I clenched it
as if I were afraid it would take wings.”

" But how did it happen, then?”

“Ah, if I only knew myself I I had given the
letter to my messenger; he started before I left his
house; I came home, and my door was locked;
everything in my room was as I had left it, except
the tulip, — ^that was gone. Some one must have
found a key to my room, or have got a false one
made. ”

Rosa was suffocating, and her tears choked her
utterance.

Cornelius, standing motionless and with distorted
features, heard almost without understanding, and
only muttered, —

“ Stolen, stolen, stolen I I am lost !”

“ Oh, Cornelius, forgive me, forgive me, or it will
kill me!” cried Rosa.

At her despairing cry, Cornelius seized the iron
bars of the wicket, and shook them like a madman,
crying, —

“ Rosa, Rosa, we have been robbed, it is true, but
shall we confess ourselves beaten for that? No,
no; it is a great calamity, but perhaps not irrepar-
able, Rosa, for we know the thief !”

“ Alas, how can I say that I am positive about
it?”

“ Oh, but I say myself that it is that infamous
Jacob. Shall we allow him to carry to Harlem the
fruit of our labour, the fruit of our sleepless nights,
the child of our love? Rosa, we must pursue him,
we must overtake him I”

Black Tulip changes Masters 185

But how can we do all this, my friend, without
letting my father know that we were in communica-
tion with each other? How could I, a poor girl,
with so little freedom and so little knowledge of
the world and its ways, hope to do what you might
fail in yourself?**

‘ ‘ Rosa, Rosa, open this door, and you will see
whether I can do it; you will see if I do not dis-
cover the thief; you will see if I do not make him
confess his crime ; you will see if I do not make him
beg for mercy !**

“Alas!** cried Rosa, sobbing bitterly, “can I
open the door for you; have I the keys? If I had
had them, would not you have been free long ago?**

‘ ‘ Your father has them, — ^your wicked father,
the cruel headsman, who has already beheaded the
first bulb of my tulip. Oh, the wretch, the wretcn !
he is Jacob’s accomplice !**

“ Don’t speak so loud, for Heaven’s sake !”

“ Oh, Rosa, if you don’t open the door for me,”
Cornelius cried in a frenzy of passion, “ I will break
through these bars, and kill everybody in the
prison I”

“ Oh, my friend, in pity’s name, be calm!”

“ I tell you, Rosa, that I will demolish this
prison, stone for stone.”

The wretched man, whose strength was increased
tenfold by his rage, began to shake the door with a
great noise, little heeding the echoes of his thunder-
ing tones in the reverberating spiral staircase.

Rosa, in her fright, made vain attempts to check
this furious outbreak,

“ I tell you that I will kill that infamous Gry-
phus!” roared Cornelius; “I tell you I will shed
his blood, as he did that of my black tulip 1”

The wretched prisoner was really beginning to go
mad.

“Well, then, yes,” said Rosa, all in a tremble;
“ yes, yes, only be quiet. Yes, I will take his keys,
I will open the door for you ! Yes, only be quiet,
my dear Cornelius.”

i86 The Black Tulip

She did not finish her speech, as a growl by her
side interrupted her.

Father r’ cried Rosa.

^‘Gryphus!” roared Van Baerle, Oh, you
villain

Old Gryphus, in the midst of all the noise, had
ascended the staircase without being heard.

He seized his 'h'l' roughly by the wrist.

“Oho! so you will take my keys?’^ he said in
a voice choked with rage. “ So this infernal
scoundrel, this monster, this gallows-bird of a con-
spirator, is your dear Cornelius, is he? So you are
in communication with prisoners of State? Oh, very
good ! very good, indeed !”

Rosa wrung her hands in despair.

“Aha!” Gryphus continued, passing from the
madness of anger to the cool irony of a man who has
the upper hand, — “ aha, my innocent tulip-fancier !
aha, my gentle scholar! so you will kill me, and
drink my blood, will you? Very good! nothing
could be better ! And so you have made my daughter
your accomplice 1 Holy Jesus I am I in a den of
thieves, — in a cave of brigands? Ah, the governor
shall know all this morning, and his Highness the
Stadtholder to-morrow. We know the law, — ‘ Who-
ever stirs up rebellion in the prison, ’ etc. , — Article 6.
We shall have a second edition of the Buytenhof,
Master Scholar, and a good one this time. Yes, yes,
just gnaw your paws like a bear in his cage; and
you, my dear, devour your dear Cornelius with your
eyes. I warn you, my pretty lambs, you shall not
much longer have the felicity of conspiring together.
Away with you, unnatural daughter ! And as to
you, Master Scholar, au revoir ; never fear but we
shall meet again.”

Rosa, mad with terror and despair, threw a kiss
to her friend; then, suddenly struck with a bright
thought, she rushed toward the staircase, saying, —

“ All is not yet lost, rely on me, my Cornelius.”

Her father followed her, growling.

>r Cornelius, he gradually loosened his

President Van Systens 187

hold of the bars, which his fingers still grasped con-
vulsively. His head was heavy, his eyes wandered
wildly, and he fell heavily on the floor of his cell
muttering, —

Stolen ! it has been stolen from me
Meanwhile Boxtel, having left the fortress by the
door which Rosa herself had opened, carrying the
black tulip wrapped up in a cloak, had thrown him-
self into a carriage which was waiting for him at
Gorcum, and disappeared, having neglected ^ for
reasons easy to understand to inform his friend
Gryphus of his sudden departure.

And now that we have seen him into his coach,
we will, with the consent of the reader, follow him
to the end of his journey.

He proceeded but slowly, as it would be danger-
ous for a black tulip to travel post.

But Boxtel, fearing that he might not arrive early
enough, procured at Delft a box, lined all round
with fresh moss, in which he packed the tulip. The
flower rested then in so soft a bed, with a supply of
air from above, that the coach could now travel full
speed without any possibility of injury.

He arrived next morning at Harlem, fatigued but
triumphant; and to do away with every trace of the
theft, he transplanted the tulip, broke the earthen
pot, and threw the pieces into the canal. Then he
wrote the president of the Horticultural Society a
letter, in which he announced to him that he had just
arrived at Harlem with a perfectly black tulip; and
with his flower all safe, took up his quarters at
a good hotel in the town.

And there he waited.

CHAPTER XXV

PRESIDENT VAN SYSTENS

Rosa, on leaving Cornelius, had fixed on a plan of
action. It was to restore to Cornelius the tulip
Jacob had stolen, or never to see him again.

1 88 The Black Tulip

She had seen the despair of the prisoner, twofold
in its source, and incurable.

On the one hand, their separation was inevitable,
— Gryphus having at the same time surprised the
secret of their love and of their stolen meetings.

On the other hand, all Van Baerle’s ambitious
hopes were crushed ; and he had been nursing them
for seven years.

Rosa was one of those women who are dejected
by trifles, but who, with a vast reserve of strength
to meet overwhelming misfortune, find even in the
misfortune itself the energy to struggle against or the
means of repairing it.

The maiden returned to her room, and cast a last
glance around to see whether she had not been mis-
taKen, and whether the tulip was not stowed away
in some corner where it had escaped her notice; but
she sought in vain, — the tulip was still absent ; it
was indeed stolen.

Rosa made up a little parcel of such articles of cloth-
ing as were indispensable, took her three hundred
florins of savings, — ^that is to say, all her fortune, —
took the third bulb from among her lace, where she
had buried it, and carefully hid it in her bosom ; then
she locked her door with a double turn, so as to
delay the discovery of her flight for at least so long
a time as would be necessary to force the door, went
down the stairs, left the prison by the same door
which an hour before had given egress to Boxtel, and
went to a stable-keeper and asked him to let a car-
riage to her.

The man had only a spring-cart; and this was
the vehicle which Boxtel had hired the evening
before, and in which he was now on his way to
Delft.

We say on his way to Delft, for it is necessary to
make a tremendous ditour going from Loewestein to
Harlem; as the crow flies, it is not more than half
the distance.

But none but birds can fly as the crow flies in
Holland, — a country which is more cut up by rivers

President Van Systens 189

and brooks and streams and canals than any other
in the world.

Not being able to procure a vehicle, Rosa was
therefore obliged to take a horse, — about which there
was no difficulty, as the stable-keeper knew her to
be the daughter of the keeper of the fortress.

Rosa hoped to overtake her messenger, — a simple,
honest lad, — and take him with her, to serve her as
a guide and a protector.

And in fact she had not gone two leagues before
she saw him walking at a round pace along the side
of a lovely road bordering the river.

She urged her horse to a brisk trot, and soon came
up with him.

The honest lad was not aware of the important
character of his message; nevertheless he used as
much speed as if he had known it; and in less
than an hour he had already gone a league and a
half.

Rosa took from him the note, which had now
become useless, and explained to him what she
wanted him to do for her. He placed himself entirely
at her disposal, promising to keep pace with the
horse, if Rosa would allow him to lay his hand on
the animal’s crupper or withers.

The maiden permitted him to rest his hand where-
ever he chose, so long as he did not interfere with
the horse’s gait.

The two travellers had been on their way for five
hours and made more than eight leagues; and yet
Gryphus had not the least suspicion that his daughter
had left the fortress.

Moreover, the jailer, who was a malicious fellow at
heart, hugged himself with delight to think that he
had struck such terror into his daughter’s heart.

While he was congratulating himself on having
such a fine story to tell his boon companion Jacob,
that worthy was on his road to Delft ; but thanks to
the swiftness of his horse, he had the start of Rosa
and her companion by four leagues.

And while the jailer imagined that Rosa was in

190 The Black Tulip

her chamber, trcmb/ing or sulky, Rosa was going
farther and farther away from him. .

Thus, the prisoner alone was where Gryphus
thought him to be.

Rosa had been so little with her father since she
had been so devoted to the tulip, that it was not
until his dinner hour — that is to say, twelve o'clock—
that Gryphus 's appetite reminded him that his
daughter' was sulking rather too long.

He sent one of the turnkeys to call her ; and when
the man came back and told him that he had called
and sought her in vain, he determined to go and
call her himself.

He first went to her room ; but he had his trouble
for his pains, for Rosa answered not.

The locksmith of the fortress was sent for; he
opened the door, but Gryphus no more found Rosa
within than Rosa had found the tulip.

At that very moment she was entering Rotterdam.

Gryphus therefore had no better success in the
kitchen than in her room, and found as little trace of
her in the garden as in the kitchen.

The reader may imagine the jailer's anger when,
having made inquiries in the neighbourhood, he
learned that his cr had hired a horse, and,

like Bradamante or Clorinda, had gone off in search
of adventure, without saying where she was going.

Gryphus in his fury went back to Van Baerle,
abused him, threatened him, knocked all the miser-
able furniture of his cell about, promised him the
darkest of the dark dungeons, and menaced him with
starvation and flogging.

Cornelius, without even listcidng to what his
jailer said, allowed himself to be ill-treated, abused,
and threatened, remaining all the while sullen, im-
movable, dead to every emotion and fear.

After having sought for Rosa in every direction,
Gryphus looked for Jacob; and as he could not find
him any more than he could his daughter, he began
at once to suspect that Jacob had carried her off.

The maiden meanwhile, having stopped for two

President Van Systens 191

hours at Rotterdam, had started again on her
journey. That evening she slept at Delft, and on
the following morning she reached Harlem, four
hours after Boxtel had arrived there.

Rosa, first of all, found her way to the house of
Master Van Systens, the president of the Horti-
cultural Society.

She found that worthy gentleman in a situation
which we must not neglect to describe under pain
of proving recreant to every obligation of a painter
and a veracious historian.

The president was drawing up a report to the com**
mittee of the society.

This report was written on large-sized paper, in the
finest handwriting of the president.

Rosa was announced simply as Rosa Gryphus ; but
her name, sonorous as it was, must have been un-
known to the president, for she was refused admis-
sion.

Rosa, however, was not disheartened; she had
engaged in a certain mission, and had vowed that
she would not allow herself to be cast down by rebufi
or brutality or insult.

“ Say to the president,’* she said to the servant,

that I have come to speak to him about the black
tulip. ’ ’

These words had as magical an effect as the
celebrated “Open Sesame” of the “Arabian
Nights;” and, thanks to them, the doors flew open
before her, and admitted her to the office of the
president, Van Systens, who gallantly rose from his
chair to meet her.

He was a slim little man, — a perfect representation
of the stem of a flower, of which his head formed the
calyx, while his limp arms, hanging by his sides,
were like the oblong double leaf of the tulip; a cer-
tain rocking motion in his gait completed his
resemblance to that flower when it bends before the
breeze.

We have said that he was called Mynheer Van
Systens.

192 The Black Tulip

“ Well, young woman,'’ he cried, ‘‘ your business
concerns the black tulip, you say?"

To the president of the Horticultural Society the
Tulip a nigra was a power of the first rank, which
might well, as queen of the tulips, send representa-
tives to friendly powers.

“Yes, Mynheer," answered Rosa, “I come at
least to speak of it. ' '

“Is it doing well?" asked Van Systens, with a
smile of tender veneration.

“ Alas I Mynheer, I don't know," said Rosa.

“ How is that? Has any accident happened to it?"

“ A very great one, yes, Mynheer — not to it, but
to me."

“What is it?"

“ It has been stolen from me."

The black tulip stolen from you !"

“ Yes, Mynheer."

“ Do you know the thief?"

“ I have my suspicions, but I do not yet dare to
accuse any one."

“ But that is somethirg which can very easily be
ascertained. ' '

“How so?"

“If it has been stolen from you, the thief cannot
be far off."

“ Why not?"

“ Because I saw it only two hours ago."

“You saw the black tulip!" cried Rosa, making
an impulsive movement toward Mynheer Van
Systens.

“ As plainly as I see you, young lady."

“ AVhere was it?"

“ In your master’s hands, to all appearances."

“ In my master’s hands !"

“Yes. Are you not in the service of Mynheer
Isaac Boxtel?"

“ I?"

“ You, of course."

“ Why, for whom do you take me, Mynheer?"

“ Why, for whom do you take me, pray?"

President Van Systens 193

** Mynheer, I trust that I am not mistaken in
taking you to be the honourable Mynheer Van
Systens, burgomaster of Harlem and president of the
Horticultural Society.’’

“ And what did you tell me just now?”

I told you, sir, that my tulip had been stolen.”

“Then your tulip is Mynheer BoxteTs. In that
case, my child, you express yourself very badly. The
tulip has been stolen^ not from you, but from
Mynheer Boxtel.”

” I repeat to you, Mynheer, that I do not know
who this Mynheer Boxtel is, and that I now hear his
name for the first time.”

“You do not know who Mynheer Boxtel is, and
you also had a black tulip?”

“ But is there any other besides mine?” asked
Rosa, trembling.

“ Mynheer BoxteFs, — ^yes.”

“What is it like?”

“ It is black, of course.”

“ Without spot?”

“ Without a single spot, — ^without the least iota
of colour,”

“And you have this tulip, — it has been deposited
here?”

“ No; but it will be, as I must exhibit it to the
committee before the prize is awarded.”

“Oh, Mynheer,” cried Rosa, “this Boxtel, this
Isaac Boxtel, who calls himself the owner of the
black tulip ”

“ And who is its owner.”

“ Is he not a very thin man?”

“Yes.”

“ Bald?”

“ Yes.”

“ With rather wild eyes?”

“ I think so. ”

Restless, stooping, and bow-legged?”

“ In truth you draw Master Boxtel’s portrait,
feature by feature.”

“ Mynheer, is the tulip in a pot of white and blue

o

194 The Black Tulip

earthenware, with a bunch of yellowish flowers on
three sides?"

“ Oh, as to that I am not quite sure; I looked
more at the man than at the pot."

" Mynheer, it is my tulip; it is the one which has
been stolen from me. I come here to lay claim to it
in your presence and at your hands."

"Oho!" said Mynheer van Systens, looking at
Rosa. "What! you are here to claim Mynheer
Boxters tulip? Upon my word, you are a cool
customer !"

" Mynheer," said Rosa, a little put out by this
apostrophe, " I do not say that 1 come to claim
Mynheer Boxters tulip, but I do say that I am here
to claim my own."

" Yours?"

"Yes, the one which I myself planted and raised."

" Well, then, go and find Mynheer Boxtel at the
White Swan Inn, and you can then settle matters
with him; as for me, considering that the cause
seems to me as dilficult to judge as that which was
brought before the late King Solomon, and that I
do not pretend to be as wise as he was, I shall con-
tent myself with making my report, establishing the
existence of the black tulip, and ordering the hundred
thousand florins to be paid to its discoverer. Good-
bye, my child,"

"Oh, Mynheer, Mynheer!" Rosa persisted.

"But, my child," continued Van Systens, "as
you are young and pretty, and as you are not entirely
abandoned, take my advice. Be prudent in this
matter, for we have a court of justice and a prison
here at Harlem; and, moreover, we are exceedingly
keen on the point of honour where our tulips are con-
cerned. Go, my child, go and find Mynheer Isaac
Boxtel at the White Swan Inn."

And Mynheer van Systens, resuming his pen, went
on with his interrupted report.

Member of Horticultural Society 195

CHAPTER XXVI

A MEMBER OF THE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY

Rosa, bewildered and almost distracted between
joy and fear at the thought of the black tulip being
found again, started for the White Swan, followed
by the boatman, a stout lad from Friesland, who was
quite capable of dealing single-handed with ten
Boxtels,

He had been made acquainted in the course of the
journey with the state of affairs, and was not likely
to shrink from any skirmish that might ensue; but
he was enjoined if such a thing did occur, to be
careful not to harm the tulip.

On arriving in the market-place, Rosa suddenly
stopped; she was seized by a sudden thought, as we
read in Homer that Minerva seized Achilles by the
hair of his head just when his wrath was carrying
him beyond all bounds.

‘‘Good heavens b” she muttered to herself, “I
have made a grievous blunder ; it may be that I have
been the ruin of Cornelius, the tulip, and myself. I
have given the alarm, and awakened suspicion. I am
but a woman; these men may league themselves
against me, and then I shall be lost. To be sure, if I
am lost, that matters nothing, — ^but Cornelius and the
tulip

She reflected for a moment.

“ If I seek out this Boxtel and do not know him ;
if Boxtel is not my friend Jacob, but another
fancier, who has also discovered the black tulip on
his own account; or if my tulip has been stolen by
some other than the one I suspect, or has already
passed into the hands of a third person, — if I do not
recognize the man, but the tulip only, how shall I
prove that it belongs to me?

“ On the other hand, if I identify Boxtel as the
false Jacob, who knows what will come of it? While

196 The Black Tulip

we are qiia-^'e!I:ng- with one another, the tulip will
die. Oh, holy Virgin ! grant me strength and in-
spiration ; the happiness of my whole life is at stake,
— to say nothing of the unhappy captive who may
be breathing his last at this moment. ^ *

Having uttered this heartfelt prayer Rosa waited
for the inspiration from on high which she had
besought.

Meanwhile, a great noise arose at the other end
of the market-place. People were running about,
doors opening and shutting ; Rosa alone was uncon-
scious of all this hubbub among the populace.

We must return to the president,’^ she muttered.

Well, then, let us return,*’ said the boatman.

They took the narrow Rue de la Faille, which led
them straight to the abode of Mynheer van Systens,
who with his best pen and in his finest hand was still
at work on his report.

Everywhere on her way Rosa heard of nothing but
the black tulip, and the prize of a hundred thousand
florins. The news had spread like wildfire through
the town.

Rosa had not a little difficulty in penetrating a
second time into the office of Mynheer van Systens,
who, however, was again worked upon by the magic
name of the black tulip.

But when he recognized Rosa, whom in his own
mind he had set down as mad, or even worse, he
was angry, and was inclined to send her away.

Rosa, however, clasped her hands, and with that
tone of honest truth which finds its way to the hearts
of men, —

For heaven’s sake, Mynheer,” she said implor-
ingly, ‘‘ do not turn me away, but listen to what I
have to say ; and if it be not possible for you to do me
justice, at least you will not one day have to reproach
yourself before God for having made yourself acces-
sory to a bad action.”

Van Systens stamped his foot wi^ vexation; it
cvas the second time that Rosa interrupted him in
the midst of a composition which stimulated his

Member of Horticultural Society 197

vanity, both as burgomaster and as president of the
Horticultural Society.

But my report r' he cried, — “ my report on the
black tulip ! ’ ^

‘‘ Mynheer,” Rosa continued, with the firmness
of innocence and truth, “your report on the black
tulip will, if you decline to hear me, be based on
crime or on falsehood. I implore you, Mynheer, let
this Boxtel, whom I assert to be Master Jacob, be
brought here before you and me, and I swear before
God that I will leave him in undisturbed possession
of the tulip, if I do not recognize the flower and its
holder. ”

“ Upon my soul! we are getting on,” exclaimed
Van Systens.

“ What do you mean?”

“ I ask you what will be proved by your recogniz-
ing them?”

“ But, surely,” said Rosa, at her wit^s end, “ you
are an honest man; just suppose that you were to
award the prize to a man for something which he
had not produced, but had stolen !”

Rosa’s tone seemed to have carried conviction to
the heart of Van Systens, and he perhaps would have
answered her more gently, when a great noise was
heard in the street, which was apparently nothing but
the same noise which Rosa had already heard in the
market-place in much less volume, but without attach-
ing any importance to it, for it had not even inter-
rupted her fervent prayer.

Loud acclamations shook the house.

Mynheer van Systens listened intently to the shout-
ing, which Rosa had at first deemed not worthy of
notice, and which now seemed to her to be hardly
more than the ordinary noise of the street.

“ What is this?” cried the burgomaster ; “ what is
this? Is it possible, have I heard aright?”

And he rushed towards his anteroom, without
thinking any more about Rosa, whom he left in his
cabinet.

Scarcely had he reached his anteroom, when he

198 The Black Tulip

Uttered a loud exclamation on seeing his staircase
crowded up to the very landing by a multitude of
people who accompanied, or rather followed a young
man, simply clad in a coat of violet-coloured velvet,
embroidered with silver, who, with a slow and stately
gait, ascended the shining white stone steps.

In his wake followed two officers, one of the navy
and the other of the cavalry.

Van Systens, having found his way through his
frightened domestics, began to bow almost to the
ground before his visitor, who was the cause of all
this stir.

“Your Highness!"^ he cried, “your Highness!
Your Highness at my house ! A brilliant distinction
for my humble abode that can never be effaced V*

“Dear Mynheer van Systens,'’ said William of
Orange, with a serenity which, with him, took the
place of a smile, “ I am a true Hollander; I am fond
of water, of beer, and of flowers, — sometimes even
of that cheese whose flavour the French esteem so
highly ; the flower which I prefer to all others is, of
course, the tulip. I heard at Leyden that the city of
Harlem at last possessed the black tulip; and after
having satisfied myself that the report was true, how-
ever incredible, I have come to learn all about it from
the president of the Horticultural Society.^'

“Oh, your Highness,” said Van Systens, in an
ecstasy of gratified pride, “ what glory to the Society
if its labours are pleasing to your Highness !”

“ Have you got the flower here?” said the Prince,
who doubtless already regretted ra^’irg made such a
long speech,

“ Alas, no, your Highness, I haven’t it here 1”

“ And where is it?”

“ Its owner has it.”

“Who is he?”

“ An honest tulip-grower of Dort.”

“ From Dort?”

“Yes.”

“ His name?”

“Boxtel.”

Member of Horticultural Society 199

His quarters?**

“ At the White Swan; I will send for him, and if,
meanwhile, your IIlghne«ss will condescend so far as
to enter my parlour, he will surely make haste to
bring his tulip to your Highness, knowing that your
Highness is here.’*

“ Very well, send for him.**

‘‘Yes, your Highness. But **

“What is it?”

“ Oh, nothing of any consequence, your High-
ness.*’

“ Everything is of consequence in this world,
Mynheer van Systens.”

“ Well, then, your Highness, if it must be said,
a little difficulty has presented itself.”

“What difficulty?”

‘ * This tulip has already been claimed by pre-
tenders. To be sure it is worth a hundred thousand
florins. * *

“ Do you really mean that a claim has been made?”
“ Yes, your Highness, by pretenders, by forgers.”
“ That is a crime, Mynheer van Systens.**

“ It is, your Highness.”

“ And have you any proofs of their guilt?”

“1^0, your Highness, the guilty woman ”

“ The guilty woman, Mynheer?”

“ I mean the woman who claims the tulip, your
Highness, is here in the next room,**

“ And what do you think of her. Mynheer van
Systens?**

“ I think, your Highness, that the bait of a
hundred thousand florins may have tempted her.**

“ And she claims the tulip?*’

“ Yes, your Highness,**

“ And what proof does she offer?”

“ I was just going to question her when your High-
ness came in.”

“ Let us hear what she says, Mynheer van Systens,
—let us hear what she says. I am the first magis-
trate of the country; I will hear the cause and
administer justice.”

200 The Black Tulip

I have found my King* Solomon/’ said Van
Systens, bowing, and indicating his cabinet to the
Prince.

His Highness was just going to walk ahead; but
suddenly he stopped, and said, —

“ Go before me, and call me ‘ Mynheer.’ ”

The two then entered the cabinet.

Rosa was still standing at the same place, leaning
against the frame of the window, and looking through
the glass into the garden.

‘'Ah, a Frisian girl!” said the Prince, as he
observed Rosa’s gold brocade head-dress and red
petticoat.

At the noise of their footsteps she turned round,
but scarcely saw the Prince, who seated himself in
the darkest corner of the apartment.

All her attention, as may easily be imagined, was
bestowed upon that important person who was called
Van Systens, and not upon the humbler stranger,
who came in behind the master of the house, and was
probably nobody of any consequence.

The humble stranger took a book down from the
shelf, and made Van Systens a sign to begin the
examination forthwith.

Van Systens, also at the suggestion of the young
man in the violet coat, sat down too, and almost
bursting with pride and delight at the prominent posi-
tion allotted to him, began, —

“ My child, you promise to tell me the truth, and
the entire truth, i o 'cc' n*- g this tulip?”

I promise. ”

Well, then, speak before this gentleman; he is
one of the members of the Horticultural Society.”

‘‘What am I to tell you. Mynheer,” said Rosa,
“ which I have not told you already?”

“Well, what next?”

“ I repeat the request which I addressed to you
before. ’ ’

“What is it?”

‘ ‘ That you will order Mynheer Boxtel to come here
with his tulip : if I do not recognize it as mine I will

Member of Horticultural Society 201

say so frankly; but if I do recognize it I will claim
it, even if I have to go before his Highness the Stadt-
holder himself with my proofs in my hands.'’

“You have proofs then, my child?"

, “ God, who knows the justice of my cause, will
furnish them."

Van Systens exchanged a look with the Prince,
who since Rosa's first words had seemed to be
struggling to remember something, as if it were not
the first time that her sweet voice had fallen upon
his ear.

An ofiScer went off to fetch Boxtel; and Van
Systens, in the meantime, continued his examination.

“ Upon what do you base your assertion that you
are the real owner of the black tulip?"

“ Upon a very simple fact, which is that I planted
and raised it in my own chamber."

“ In your chamber? Where was your chamber?"

“ At Loewestein. "

“You are from Loewestein?"

“ I am the daughter of the jailer of the fortress."

The Prince made a little movement, as much as to
say, “ Ah ! that's it, I remember now."

And all the while pretending to be absorbed in his
book, he watched Rosa with even more attention than
before.

“And you are fond of flowers?" continued Myn-
heer Van Systens.

“Yes, Mynheer."

“ Then you are an experienced florist?"

Rosa hesitated a moment; then in a voice which
spoke from the depth of her heart, she said, —

“ Gentlemen, I am speaking to men of honour?"

Her tone was so honest that Van Systens and the
Prince answered simultaneously by an affirmative
movement of their heads.

“ Well, then, no ; it is not I who am an experienced
florist. No I am only a poor girl of the people, — a
poor Frisian peasant-girl, who three months ago
knew neither how to read nor write; no, the black
tulip was not discovered by myself."

202 The Black Tulip

“ By whom, pray, was it discovered ?*'

‘‘ By a poor prisoner at Lcewestein. ’ '

“ By a poor prisoner at Loewesteln ?’* repeated the
Prince.

At the sound of his voice Rosa in her turn was
startled.

‘‘ It must have been by a prisoner of State, then?’’
continued the Prince, “ for there are none but pris-
oners of State at Loewestein.”

Having said this, he began to read again, at least
in appearance.

“ Yes,” murmured Rosa, with a faltering voice, —

yes, by a prisoner of State.”

Van Systens trembled as he heard such a confes-
sion made in the presence of such a witness.

“ Continue,” said William, coldly, to the president
of the Horticultural Society.

Ah, Mynheer,” said Rosa, addressing the person
whom she thought to be her real judge, “lam about
to accuse myself of a very serious offence. ”

“ Certainly,” said Van Systens, “ the prisoners of
State ought to be kept in secret confinement at
Loewestein.”

“ Alas I Mynheer.”

“And from what you tell me it would seem that
you took advantage of your position as daughter of
the jailer to communicate with a prisoner of State
about the cultivation of flowers.”

“Yes, Mynheer,” Rosa murmured in dismay;
“ yes, I am bound to confess I saw him every day.”

“ Unfortunate girl !” exclaimed Van Systens.

The Prince observing the fright of Rosa and the
pallor of the president, raised his head, and said, in
his clear and decided tone, —

“ This does not concern the members of the Horti-
cultural Society; they have to pass upon the matter
of the black tulip, and have nothing to do with
political offences. Go on, young woman, go on.”

Van Systens, by an eloquent glance, offered in the
name of all tulips his thanks to the new member of
the Horticultural Society.

Member of Horticultural Society 203

Rosa, reassured by this gleam of encouragement
which the stranger held out to her, related all that
had happened for the last three months, — all that she
had done and all that she had suffered- She described
the cruelty of Gryphus, the destruction of the first
bulb, the grief of the prisoner, the precautions taken
to insure the success of the second bulb, the prisoner’s
patience and his agony during their separation, —
how he almost starved himself because he had no
news of his tulip, — his joy when she went to see him
again, and, lastly, their common despair when they
found that the tulip, which had flowered so success-
fully, was stolen just one hour after it had opened.

All this was detailed with an accent of truth, which
although producing no change in the impassive
demeanour of the Prince, did not fail to make an
impression on Van Systens.

“ But,” said the Prince, ” you can only have
known the prisoner a short time.”

Rosa opened her great eyes and looked at the
stranger, who drew back into the dark corner, as if
he wished to escape her observation.

” Why so. Mynheer?” she asked.

“ Because it is not yet four months since the
Jailer Gryphus and his daughter were removed to
Loewestein. ”

“ True, Mynheer.”

“ And unless you solicited the transfer of your
father, in order that you might follow some prisoner
who was transferred from the Hague to Loewe-
stein ”

Mynheer !” said Rosa, blushing.

“ Finish what you have to say,” said William.

“ I confess that I knew the prisoner at the
Hague.”

” Happy prisoner!” said William, smiling.

At this moment the officer who had been sent for
Boxtel returned, and announced to the Prince that the
person whom he had been to seek was following at
his heels with his tulip.

204

The Black Tulip

CHAPTER XXVII

THE THIRD BULB

Boxtel’s coming was scarcely announced when
that individual in person entered the parlour of
Mynheer van Systens, followed by two men who
carried in a box the precious burden, and deposited
it on a table.

The Prince on being informed left the cabinet,
passed into the parlour, admired the flower, but said
nothing, and silently resumed his seat in the dark
corner, where he had himself placed his chair.

Rosa, trembling, pale, and terrified, waited until
she should be invited in her turn to see the tulip.

She heard Boxtel’s voice.

‘‘ It is he 1’^ she exclaimed.

The Prince made her a sign to go and look through
the open door into the parlour.

‘‘ It is my tulip,’' cried Rosa; “ I recognize It. Oh,
my poor Cornelius I”

She burst into tears.

The Prince rose from his seat, and went to the
door, where he stood a moment in the light.

As Rosa’s eyes rested upon him, she felt more
than ever convinced that this was not the first time
she had seen the stranger.

‘‘ Master Boxtel,” said the Prince, “ come in here,
if you please. ”

Boxtel eagerly approached, and found himself face
to face with William of Orange.

His Highness !” he cried, recoiling a step.

His Highness !” Rosa repeated, in dismay.

Hearing this exclamation on his left, Boxtel
turned round, and perceived Rosa.

At sight of her the whole frame of the envious
fellow shook as if he had touched a voltaic battery.

“Ah,” muttered the Prince to himself, “he is
confused I ’ *

The Third Bulb 205

But Boxtel, making a violent effort at self-control,
had already mastered his emotion.

‘‘Well, Mynheer Boxtel,'* said William, “you
seem to have discovered the secret of the black
tulip?"

“ Yes,^ your Highness," answered Boxtel, in a
voice which still betrayed some confusion.

To be sure his confusion might have been attribut-
able to the emotion which the man must have felt
on suddenly recognizing William.

“But," continued the Prince, “here is a young
woman who also pretends to have discovered it."

Boxtel smiled, and shrugged his shoulders con-
temptuously.

William watched all his movements with evident
interest and curiosity.

“ Then you don't know this young woman?" said
the Prince.

“ No, your Highness."

“ And you, young woman, do you know Mynheer
Boxtel?"^

“ No, I don't know Mynheer Boxtel; but I know
Mynheer Jacob."

“ What do you mean?"

“ I mean that at Loewestein the man who here
calls himself Isaac Boxtel went by the name of
Jacob."

“ What do you say to that. Mynheer Boxtel?'^

“ I say that this young woman lies, your High-
ness. "

“ Do you deny having ever been at Loewestein?"

Boxtel hesltdlled ; the fixed and searching glance of
the keen eye of the Prince stopped the lie on his lips.

“ I cannot deny having been at Loewestein, your
Highness; but I deny having stolen the tulip."

“You did steal it, and from my room," cried
Rosa, with indignation.

“ I deny it."

“Now listen to me : Do you deny having followed
me into the garden on the day when I prepared the
bed where I intended to plant it? Do you deny
having followed me into the garden when I pre-

2o6 The Black Tulip

tended to plant it? Do you deny that on that even-
ing, after I had gone, you rushed to the spot where
you hoped to find the bulb? Do you deny having
dug in the ground with your hands? — but, thank
God, in vain, for it was only a stratagem to discover
your intentions. Say, do you deny all this?’*

Boxtel did not deem it best to reply to these several
questions; but turning to the Prince, he said, —

I have now for twenty years grown tulips at
Dort ; I have even acquired some reputation in the art.
One of my hybrids is entered in the catalogue under
the name of an illustrious personage. I dedicated
it to the King of Portugal. This is the truth of the
matter : This girl knew that I had produced the
black tulip, and in concert with a lover of hers in the
fortress of Loewestein she formed the plan of min-
ing me, by appropriating to herself the prize of a
hundred thousand florins which I hope to win,
thanks to your justice.”

** Oh said Rosa, beside herself with anger.

** Silence !” said the Prince.

Then, turning to Boxtel, he said, —

And who is that prisoner whom you allege to be
the lover of this young woman?”

Rosa nearly swooned ; for Cornelius had been
recommended by the Prince to the special surveill-
ance of the jailer as a dangerous criminal.

Nothing could have been more agreeable to Boxtel
than this question.

“ Who is this prisoner, did you ask?” said he.

This prisoner is a man whose name in itself will
prove to your Highness what trust yoh may place in
his good faith and honour. He is a State criminal
who was once condemned to death.”

” And his name?”

Rosa hid her face in her hands with a despairing
gesture.

” His name is Cornelius van Baerle,” said Boxtel,
” and he is godson of that villain Cornelius de
Witt,”

The Prince started; his calm eye flashed, and a
deathlike pallor spread over his impassive features.

The Third Bulb 207

He went up to Rosa, and with a motion of his
finger ordered her to remove her hands from her
face.

Rosa obeyed, as if under mesmeric influence, with-
out having seen the sign.

It was then to follow this man that you came to
me at Leyden to solicit the transfer of your father

Rosa hung her head, and in a stifled and almost
inaudible voice murmured, —

“ Yes, your Highness.”

** Go on,” said the Prince to Boxtel.

I have nothing more to say,” Isaac continued.
” Your Highness knows all. But there is one thing
which I did not intend to say, because I did not wish
to make this girl blush for her ing-adtuce. I came
to Loewestein because I had business there. I made
the acquaintance of old Gryphus, and falling in love
with his daughter, made an offer of marriage to her ;
and not being rich, I committed the imprudence of
mentioning to them my hope of gaining a hundred
thousand florins, and to justify my hope, I showed
them the black tulip. Then, as her lover had made
a pretence of growing tulips at Dort, to divert suspi-
cion from his political intrigues, the two together
plotted my ruin.

“ On the eve of the day when the flower was
expected to open, the tulip was carried off from my
quarters by this young woman to her room, whence
I had the good luck to recover it, at the very moment
when she had the impudence to despatch a messenger
to announce to the members of the Horticultural
Society that she had produced the great black tulip.
But she did not stop there. There is no doubt that
during the few hours which she kept the flower in her
room she showed it to some persons, whom she may
now call as witnesses. But fortunately your High-
ness has now been warned against this impostor and
her witnesses. ”

‘‘ Oh, my God, my God, what infamous false-
hoods!” said Rosa, bursting into tears, and throw-
ing herself at the feet of the Stadtholder, who.

2 o 8 The Black Tulip

althougfh believing her guilty, felt pity for her dread-
ful agony.

You have done very wrong, my child, he said,

and your lover shall be punished for having
advised you thus ; for you are so young, and have
such an honest mien, that I am inclined to believe
the mischief to have been his doing, and not
yours. ’’

** Oh, your Highness, your Highness!’* cried
Rosa, “ Cornelius is not guilty !”

William stained.

** Not guilty of having advised you; that’s what
you mean, is it not?”

** What I mean, your Highness, is that Cornelius
is as little guilty of the second crime imputed to him
as he was of the first.”

” Of the first? And do you know what was his
first crime? Do you know of what he was accused
and convicted? — of having, as an accomplice of Cor-
nelius de Witt, concealed the correspondence of the
Grand Pensionary and the Marquis de Louvois.”

Yes, but, Mynheer, he was ignorant that this
correspondence had been left in his care, — completely
ignorant. Otherwise, my God, he would have told
me. Could that pure, noble heart conceal aught
from me? No, no, your Highness, I repeat, even
though I incur your displeasure, Cornelius is no more
guilty of the first crime than of the second ; and of
the second no more than of the first. Oh, would to
Heaven that you knew my Cornelius, your High-
ness !”

” He is a De Witt!” cried Boxtel. His High-
ness knows only too much of him, having once
granted him his life.”

“ Silence!” said the Prince; “all these affairs of
State, as I have already said, are completely outside
of the jurisdiction of the Horticultural Society of
Harlem.”

Then he added, with a slight frown, —

“As to the tulip, make yourself easy^ Master
Boxtel; you shall have justice done you.”

The Third Bulb 209

Boxtel bowed, with a heart full of joy, and received
the congratulations of the president.

‘‘ You, my child,’’ William of Orange continued,
‘‘ you were very near commliting a crime. I shall
not punish you; but the real culprit shall pay the
penalty for both. A man of his name may be a con-
spirator, and even a traitor ; but he ought not to be
a thief.”

“A thief!” cried Rosa. ‘'Cornelius a thief I
Pray, your I'^ighpess, take care, for he would die
were he to hear your words; such words would kill
him more surely than the axe of the executioner would
have done upon the Buytenhof. If theft there has
been, I swear to you. Mynheer, no one but this man
has committed it.”

“ Prove it,” sneered Boxtel.

“Oh, I will; with God’s help, I will prove it!”
retorted the maiden, earnestly.

Then, turning toward Boxtel, she asked, —

“ The tulip is yours?”

“ It is,”

“ How many bulbs were there?”

Boxtel hesitated for a moment, but he came to the
conclusion that she would not ask this question
if there had been no more than the two of which he
already knew. He therefore answered, —

“ Three.”

“What has become of these bulbs?” demanded
Rosa.

“ What has become of them? Well, one has
failed; the second has produced the black tulip.”

“ And the third?”

“ The third!”

“Yes, the third, where is it?”

“The third is at my house,” said Boxtel, quite
confused.

“ At your house? Where, — at Loewestein, or at
Dort?”

“ At Dort,” said Boxtel.

“ You lie !” cried Rosa. “ Your PTighness,” she
continued, turning to the Prince, “ I will tcli >ou the

p

210 The Black Tulip

true story of those three bulbs. The first was crushed
by my father in the prisoner’s cell, and this man is
quite aware of it; for he himself wanted to get hold
of it, and being balked in his hope, he very nearly fell
out with my father, who had been the cause of his
disappointment. The second bulb, under my care,
has produced the black tulip; and the third and last ”
— saying this she drew it from her bosom — ‘ ‘ here it

is, in the very same paper in which it was wrapped
up together with the two others, when, as he was
about to ascend the scaffold, Cornelius van Baerle
gave me all three. Take it, your Highness, take it.’’

And Rosa, unfolding the paper, offered the bulb to
the Prince, who took it from her hands and examined

it.

“ But, your Highness, may not this young woman
have stolen the bulb as she did the tulip?” stammered
Boxtel, alarmed at the attention with which the
Prince examined the bulb, and even more at the sud-
den interest displayed by Rosa in some lines written
on the paper which remained in her hands.

Her eyes suddenly lighted up ; she read the
mysterious paper again in breathless haste, and then,
with an exclamation, held it out to the Prince.

Oh, read, your Highness, in God’s name, read !”
she cried.

William handed the third bulb to Van Systens, took
the paper, and read.

No sooner had he looked at it than he staggered
back ; his hand trembled, as if it would let the paper
fall to the ground, and the expression of pain and
compassion in his eyes was frightful to see.

The leaf Rosa had handed him was that page of
his Bible which Cornelius de Witt had sent to Dort
by Craeke, the servant of his brother John, to request
Van Baerle to burn the correspondence of the Grand
Pensionary with the Marquis de Louvois.

This request, as the reader may remember, was
couched in the following terms : —

My dear Godson, — ^Burn the parcel which I have intrusted
to you. Burn it without looking at it, and without opening

21 1

The Third Bulb

it, SO that its contents may for ever remain unknown to your
self. Secrets of this description are death to those with whonr
they are deposited. Burn it, and you will have saved the lives
of John and Cornelius.

Farewell, and love me.

Cornelius de Witt.

August 20, 1672.

This slip of paper was proof at once of Var
Baerle’s innocence and of his claim of ownership oi
the tulip-bulbs.

Rosa and the Stadtholder exchanged one glance.

That of Rosa was meant to express, ‘‘ Now yoi
can see who is right.’’

That of the Stadtholder signified, “ Say nothingj
and wait.”

The Prince wiped the perspiration from his fore-
head, and slowly folded the paper, as he allowed his
gaze to follow his into that bottomless

hopeless abyss, which is called remorse and sham<
for the past.

Soon however, raising his head with an effort, ht
said, in his usual voice, —

Go, Mynheer Boxtel; justice shall be done, I pro*
mise you.”

Then, turning to the president, he added, —

‘ ‘ Do you, my dear Mynheer van Systens, keep
this young woman and the tulip here with you.
Good-bye.”

All bowed, and the Prince left amid the deafening
cheers of the crowd outside.

Boxtel returned to his inn, rather anxious. He
was much disturbed by that paper which William
had received from the hand of Rosa, and had read,
folded, and so carefully put away in his pocket.

Rosa went up to the tulip, tenderly kissed its
leaves, and in the fulness of her entire trust in God,
she murmured, —

My God, Thou knowest for what end my good
Cornelius taught me to read !”

Yes, God did know, for it is He who chastises and
rewards mankind according to their deserts.

212

The Black Tulip

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SONG OF THE FLOWERS

Whilst the events we have described in our last
chapters were taking* place, the unfortunate Van
Baerle, forgotten in his cell in the fortress of
Loewestein, suffered at the hands of Gryphus all that
a prisoner can suffer when his jailer has formed the
determination of playing the part of hangman.

Gryphus, not having received any tidings of Rosa
or of Jacob, persuaded himself that all that had hap-
pened was the devil’s work, and that the devil him-
self was responsible for Dr. Cornelius van Baerle ’s
presence on earth.

The result was that one fine morning, the third
day after the disappearance of Jacob and Rosa, he
went up to Cornelius’s cell in even a greater rage
than usual.

The latter, leaning his elbows on the window-sill,
and supporting his head with his hands, while his eyes
wandered distractedly along the hazy horizon, where
the windmills of Dort were lazily turning their sails,
was seeking in the fresh, invigorating air for
strength to restrain his tears and maintain his
philosophical tranquillity.

The pigeons were still there; but hope had van-
ished, — the future seemed to hold nothing for him.

Alas ! Rosa was being watched, and was no longer
able to come. Could she not write? And if so,
could she manage to send her letters to him ?

No, no ! He had seen during the two preceding
days too much fury and malignity in the eyes of old
Gryphus to expect that his \Iqih5-T(x would relax
even for one moment. And then had she not tor-
tures to endure a thousand times worse than solitude
and separation? Would not the blaspheming,
drunken brute revenge himself after the fashion of
the fathers in the old Greek plays? And when the

The Song of the Flowers 213

g-in had snarled up his wits, would it not endow his
arm — which Cornelius had set only two well — with
the strength of two ordinary arms and a club?

The idea that Rosa might perhaps be ill-treated
nearly drove Cornelius mad.

He then felt his own helplessness, his powerless-
ness, and nothingness. He asked himself whether
God was just in inflicting so much tribulation on two
innocent creatures. There is no doubt that during
that sad time his belief wavered. Misfortune does
not conduce to faith in sinful man.

Van Baerle thought of writing to Rosa ; but where
was she?

He also had an idea writing to the Hague to
forestall Gryphus, who he had no doubt would by
denouncing, him do his best to bring fresh trouble
upon him.

But how should he write? Gryphus had taken the
paper and pencil from him ; and even if he had both,
he could hardly expect Gryphus to take charge of
his letter.

Then Cornelius considered in every light all the
shallow artifices resorted to by unfortunate pris-
oners.

He had thought of an attempt to escape, — a thing
which never entered his head while he could see
Rosa every day; but the more he thought of it the
more clearly he saw the impracticability of such an
attempt. His was one of those fastidious natures
which abhor everything that is common, and often
lose fine opportunities by shrinking from following
in the beaten track, — the highway of people of
moderate pretensions, and which may lead to any
height.

<< How would it be possible,’’ said Cornelius to
himself, ** for me to escape from Loewestein, as
Grotius did? Has not every precaution been taken
since? Are not the windows barred? Are not the
doors twice or three times as strong as they were
then, and the sentinels ten times more watchful?
And besides the barred windows and the double

214 The Black Tulip

doors and the vigilant sentinels, have I not a tireless
watcher, — a veritable Argus, so much the more to be
dreaded because his eyes are made keen by hatred,
— old Gryphus himself? Finally, is there not one
circumstance which takes away all my spirit, — I
mean Rosa’s absence? But suppose I should waste
ten years of my life in making a file to file off my
bars or in braiding cords to let myself down from
the window, or in sticking wings on my shoulders
to fly, like Daedalus? But luck is against me now.
The file would get dull, the rope would break, or my
wings would melt in the sun; I should surely kill
myself ; I should be picked up maimed and crippled ;
I should be labelled, and put on exhibition in the
museum at the Hague between the blood-stained
doublet of William the Taciturn and the female
walrus captured at Stavesen, and the only result of
my enterprise will have been to procure me a place
among the curiosities of Holland.

‘‘But no; and it is much better so. Some fine
day Gryphus will commit some atrocity. I am
losing my patience since I lost all pleasure by losing
the company of Rosa, and especially since I lost my
tulip. Undoubtedly, some day or other Gryphus will
attack me in a manner offensive to my self-respect or
to my love, or even threaten my personal safety.
Since I have been left entirely to myself I am con-
scious of a strange feeling of physical power and of
mental vigour, which make me cross beyond
measure, they are so loud in their demand to be
brought into action. I long to fight some one; my
appetite for a row is insatiable; and I have an in-
comprehensible thirst for giving and recoiling blows.
I shall surely jump at the throat of my villainous old
friend and strangle him.”

Cornelius at his last words stopped for a moment,
with clenched teeth and staring eye.

He was eagerly revolving in his mind a thought
which at last made him smile.

“Well,” continued he, resuming his soliloquy,
“ with Gryphus once strangled, why not take his

The Song of the Flowers 215

keys from him, why not' go down the stairs as if I
had done the most virtuous action, why not seek
Rosa in her room, why not tell her all, and jump
with her from her window into the Waal? I can
certainly swim well enough for two. Rosa — but, oh,
heavens, Gryphus is her father ! Whatever may be
her alfection for me, she will never approve of my
having strangled her father, brutal and malicious as
he has been. I shall have to enter into an argument
with her ; and in the midst of my speech some
wretched turnkey who has found Gryphus with the
death-rattle in his throat, or perhaps actually dead,
will come along and put his hand on my shoulder.
Then I shall see the Buytenhof again, and the gleam
of that infernal sword, — which will not stop half-way
a second time, but will make acquaintance with the
nape of my neck. It will not do, Cornelius, my fine
fellow; it is a bad plan. But, then, what is to
become of me, and how shall I find Rosa again?”

Such were the cogitations of Cornelius three days
after the sad scene of separation from Rosa, at
the moment when we find him standing at the
window.

And at that very moment Gryphus entered.

He held in his hand a huge club ; his eyes glistened
with evil thoughts, an evil smile played upon his lips,
his gait had an evil uncertainty, and evil intentions
exhaled from his whole morose person.

Cornelius, inured as we have seen to the necessity
of patience, — a necessity which amounted to convic-
tion, — ^heard him enter, and guessed that it was he,
but did not turn round; he knew that this time no
Rosa accompanied him.

There is nothing more galling to angry people than
the coolness of those on whom they wish to vent
their spleen.

The expense being once incurred, one does not like
to lose it; one’s passion is roused, and one’s blood
boiling. It seems a pure loss of energy if the boil-
ing should not eventuate in a little stew.

Every honest rascal who has sharpened his ill-

2i 6 The Black Tulip

humour to a keen edge longs to inflict a wound
upon somebody with it.

Gryphus therefore, on seeing that Cornelius did
not stir, tried to attract his attention by a loud —

^‘Umph, umph!’^

Cornelius was humming between his teeth the

Song of the Flowers,’' — a sad but beautiful
song,—

** We are the children of the hidden fire,

Of the fire which courses throug-h the veins of the earth ;

We are the children of the dawn and the dew ;

We are the children of the air ;

We are the children of the fountain ;

But we are, above all, the children of heaven.”

This song — the placid melancholy of which was
made more impressive by its soft, sweet melody —
exasperated Gryphus.

He struck his club on the stone pavement of the
cell, and called out, —

Halloa, my musical friend! Don’t you hear
me?”

Cornelius turned.

“Good morning,” said he, and then began his
song again, —

“ Men defile us, and destroy us for very love;

We are held to the earth by but a slender thread.

This thread is our root, — that is to say, our life ;

But we raise our arms to our full height toward heaven.’*

“Ah, you accursed sorcerer! you are making
game of me, I believe,” roared Gryphus.

Cornelius continued, —

“ For heaven is our fatherland,

Our true fatherland, for thence comes our soulj
And thither our soul returns, —

Our soul ; that is to say, our perfume.*®

Gryphus went close up to him, and said, —

“ Don’t you see, pray, that I have taken measures
to humble your damned pride and make you confess
your crimes?”

“Are you mad, my dear Master Gryphus?”
asked Cornelius, turning to look at him.

The Song of the Flowers 217

^ As he spoke, he observed the forbidding expres-
sion, the flashing eyes, and foaming mouth of the old
jailer.

'‘The devil!” he muttered; “he is more than
mad, it seems; he is a raving lunatic.”

Gryphus flourished his club above his head, with-
out moving a muscle.

“ Here, friend Gryphus,” said Van Baerle, with
folded arms, “ you seem to threaten me.”

“Yes, indeed, I do threaten you I” cried the
jailer.

“What do you propose to do?”

“ First of ail, see what I have in my hand.”

“ I think that’s a club,” said Cornelius, calmly,
— “ in fact, a big club ; but I don’t imagine that that
is what you threaten me with.”

“ Oh you don’t, why not?”

“ Because any jailer who strikes a prisoner is
liable to two penalties ; the first laid down in Article
9 of the regulations of Loewestein, —

‘ Any jailer, inspector, or turnkey who lays hand upon a
prisoner of State will be dismissed.’ ”

“Yes, who lays hands,” said Gryphus, mad with
rage ; ‘ ' but how about a club ? Aha ! the rules are
dumb on the subject of clubs.”

“And the second,” continued Cornelius, “which
is not included in the regulations, but which is to
be found in the holy Gospel, is this, ' Whosoever
smites with the sword shall perish by the sword,’ —
in other words, ‘ Whosoever smites with the club
shall receive a good thrashing therewith.’ ”

Gryphus, more and more enraged by the calm and
sententious tone of Cornelius, brandished his
cudgel ; but just as he raised it, Cornelius rushed at
him, snatched it from his hands, and put it under his
own arm.

Gryphus fairly bellowed with rage.

“There, there, my good man,” said Cornelius,
“ don’t risk the loss of your place.”

“ Ah, you sorcerer. I’ll make you pay dear for
this,” roared Gryphus.

21 8 The Black Tulip

“ All right.”

Don^t you see that my hands are empty
Yes, I do, and not without a certain amount of
satisfaction.’’

“You know that it is not generally the case when
I come up-stairs in the morning.”

“ Ah, that’s true, for you generally bring me the
worst soup and the most miserable rations one can
imagine. But that’s not a punishment to me; I eat
only bread, and the worse the bread is to your taste,
Gryphus, the better it is to mine.”

“ The better it is to yours?”

<< Yes.”

“How so?” ,

“ Oh, it is a very simple thing.”

“ Tell me, then,” said Gryphus.

“ \V'li*ngiy. I know that in giving me bad bread
you think you annoy me. ’ ’

Certainly, I don’t give it you to please you,
you brigand.”

“ Well, then, I, who am a sorcerer, as you know,
change your bad bread into excellent bread, which
I relish more than the best cake; and then I have
the double pleasure of eating something that gratifies
my palate, and of doing something that puts you in
a rage.”

Gryphus answered with a growl.

“ Oh, you cqnfess, then, that you are a sorcerer?”

“ Faith, yes; if I am so. I don’t say it before all
the world, because they might send me to the stake,
like Gaufredy, or Urbain Grandier; but as we are
alone, I see no objection to telling you.”

“ Very good, very good,” retorted Gryphus; “ but
even if a sorcerer can change black bread into white,
will he be the less likely to die of hunger if he has
no bread at all?”

“ What’s that?” said Cornelius.

“ So, I think I will not bring you any bread at all,
and we will see how you are after eight days.”

Cornelius grew pale.

“And,” continued Gryphus, “we’ll begin this

The Song of the Flowers 219

very day. As you are such a clever sorcerer, why,
you had better change the furniture of your room
into bread; as to myself, I shall pocket the eighteen
sous a day which are paid to me for your board.”

But that^s murder,” cried Cornelius, carried
away by the first impulse of very natural terror with
which the bare thought of this horrible mode of
death inspired him.

“Well,” Gryphus went on in his jeering way,

as you are a sorcerer, you will live notwithstand-
ing.”

Cornelius resumed his jovial demeanour, and with
a shrug of the shoulders, he said, —

“ Have you not seen me make the pigeons come
hither from Dort?”

“Well,” said Gryphus. ‘

“ Well, a pigeon makes a very dainty roast, and a
man who eats one every day is not likely to starve,
I fancy.”

” What will you do for a fire?” said Gryphus.

“ Fire ! why, you know that Pm in league with
the devil. Do you think the devil will leave me with-
out fire when fire is his natural element?”

“ A man, however healthy his appetite may be,
could not eat a pigeon every day. Men have made
bets before now that they would do so, and have
been obliged to abandon them.”

“ Well, but when I am tired of pigeons, I have
only to summon the fish from the Waal and the
Meuse.”

Gryphus opened his eyes to their widest extent
in bewilderment.

“ I am rather fond of fish,” continued Cornelius;
“you never let me have any. Well, I will take
advantage of your attempt to starve me, and regale
myself with fish. ”

Gryphus nearly fainted with anger and terror ; but
he soon rallied, and said, putting his hand in his
pocket, —

“Well, if you force me to it,” — ^and with these
words, he drew forth a clasp-knife and opened it.

220 The Black Tulip

“ Halloa, a knife said Cornelius, preparing to
defend himself with his cudgel.

CHAPTER XXIX

IN WHICH VAN BAERLE, BEFORE LEAVING LCEWESTEINj
SETTLES ACCOUNTS WITH GRYPHUS

The two stood for a moment, Gryphus on the
offensive, and Van Baerle on the defensive.

Then, as the situation might be pro' to an

indefinite length, Cornelius, anxious to learn the
cause of this extraordinary reinforcement of wrath
on the part of his adversary, asked him, —

In Heaven’s name,, what do you want?”

“'I’ll tell you what I want,” answered Gryphus,
‘T want you to give me back my daughter Rosa*”

“ Your daughter?” cried Van Baerle.

** Yes, Rosa, whom you have taken from me by
your devilish magic. Now, will you tell me where
she is?”

And the attitude of Gryphus became more and
more threatening.

“ Rosa not at Loewestein?” cried Cornelius.

” You know very well she is not. Once more, will
you give Rosa back to me?”

“Oh, yes,” said Cornelius, “this is a trap you
are laying for me.”

“ Now, for the last time, will you tell me where
my daughter is?’'

“ Guess, you villain, if you don’t know.”

“ Only wait, only wait!’ growled Gryphus, white
with rage, and with lips quivering with the excite-
ment which began to turn his brain. “ Ah, you will
not tell me any thing ? Well, I’ll : \ teeth!”

He advanced a step towards Cornelius, and said,
showing him the weapon which glistened in his
hand, —

“ Do you see this knife? Well, I have killed more
than fifty black cocks with it; and I vow I’ll kill

Van Baerle Settles Accounts 221

their master the devil^, as well as them. Just wait^
just you wait r*

Why, you blockhead,^* said Cornelius, “ do you
really mean to kill me?”

“ I will open your heart, to see the place within it
where you hide my daughter.”

With these words, Gryphus in his frenzy rushed
upon Cornelius, who had barely time to retreat
behind his table to avoid the fierce thrust. Gryphus
continued, with horrid threats, to brandish his huge
knife. Cornelius saw that although he was beyond
the reach of his hand, he was not out of range of the
weapon, which if thrown at him might bury itself in
his chest. So he lost no time,^ but with the cudgel,
which he had kept tight hold upon, dealt a vigorous
blow on the wrist which held the knife.

The knife fell to the ground, and Cornelius put his
foot on it.

Then, as Gryphus seemed bent upon engaging in
a struggle, which the pain in his wrist and shame
at having allowed himself to be twice disarmed would
have made desperate, Cornelius took a decisive step.
He belaboured his jailer, with most heroic self-pos-
session selecting the precise spot for every blow of
the terrible cudgel.

Gryphus was not slow in begging for mercy; but
before doing so he had roared long and loud, and his
h^rowi.ig had been heard and had roused all the
functionaries of the prison. Two turnkeys, an in-
spector, and three or four guards made their appear-
ance all at once, and found Cornelius still working
the cudgel with his hand, with the knife under his
foot.

At the sight of these witnesses of the crime he was
engaged in, and whose mitigating circumstances,”
as we say nowadays, were unknown to them, Cor-
nelius felt that he was irretrievably lost.

In fact, appearances were sadly against him.

In a twinkling Cornelius was disarmed ; and
Gryphus, surrounded and lifted from the floor,
bellowing with rage and pain, was able to take

222

The Black Tulip

'account of the bruises, which were beginning to swell
on his back and shoulders like the foot-hills of a
mountain range.

A prochs-verhal of the violence practised by the
prisoner against his keeper was immediately drawn
up; and as it was inspired by Gryphus, it was not
open to the criticism of mildness, the prisoner being
charged with nothing less than an attempt to murder,
long premeditated, and put in practice upon the
jailer with malice aforethought and in open re-
bellion.

While the charge was being drawn up against Cor-
nelius, Gryphus, whose presence was no longer neces-
sary after his deposition had been taken, was taken
down by his turnkeys to his lodge, groaning, and
covered with bruises.

During this time, the guards who had seized Cor-
nelius busied themselves charitably in informing their
prisoner of the usages and customs of Loewestein, —
which, however, he knew as well as they did, the
regulations having been read to him at the moment
of his entering the prison, and certain articles in them
remaining fixed in his memory.

They also told him how these regulations had been
applied in the case of a prisoner name Mathias, who
in 1688 — that is to say, five years before — had com-
mitted a much less violent act of rebellion than that
of which Cornelius was guilty. He had found his
soup too hot, and had thrown it at the head of the
chief turnkey, who in consequence of this ablution
had been put to the inconvenience of having his skin
come off as he wiped his face.

Mathias within twelve hours was taken from his
cell; then led to the jailer's lodge, where he was
registered as leaving Loewestein; then taken to the
Esplanade, from which there is a very fine view
extending over eleven leagues.

There they fettered his hands, bandaged his eyes,
and recited three prayers.

Hereupon he was invited to kneel ; and the guards
of Loewestein, twelve in number^ at a sign from a

Van Baerle Settles Accounts 223

sergeant, each very cleverly lodged a musket-ball in
his body.

In consequence whereof Mathias immediately then
and there did die.

Cornelius listened with the greatest attention to
this delightful recital, and then said, —

** Ah, ah ! within twelve hours, you say?*’

“ Yes; the twelfth hour had not even struck, if I
remember right,” said the guard who had told him
the story.

“ Thank you,” said Cornelius.

The guard still had the smile on his face which
served to accentuate his tale, when a loud step was
heard in the hall and spurs jingled upon the worn-
out stairs.

The guards fell back to allow an officer to pass,
who entered the cell of Cornelius while the clerk of
Lcewestein was still making out his report.

“ Is this No. II?*’ he asked.

‘‘ Yes, Captain,” answered a subaltern.

Then this is the cell of the prisoner Cornelius
van Baerle?”

** Exactly, Captain.”

“ Where is the prisoner?”

Here I am, Mynheer,” answered Cornelius,
growing rather pale, notwithstanding all his courage.

“You are Dr. Cornelius van Baerle?” asked he,
this time addressing the prisoner himself.

“Yes, Mynheer.”

“ Then follow me.”

“Oh, oh!” said Cornelius, whose heart felt
oppressed as if by the first pang of the agony of
death. What quick work they make here in the
fortress of Lcewestein ! And the rascal talked to me
of twelve hours !**

“Ah, what did I tell you?” whispered the his-
torically-minded guard into the ear of the patient
sufferer.

“A lie.”

“How so?”

You promised me twelve hours.

224 The Black Tulip

Ah, yes ! but they have sent you an aide-de-camp
of his Highness, even one of his most intimate com-
panions, Mynheer van Deken. Zounds ! they did
not pay such a compliment to poor Mathias.’^

“ Come, come,’’ said Cornelius, drawing a long
breath. Come, I’ll show these people that an
honest burgher, godson of Cornelius de Witt, can
without flinching receive as many musket-balls as
that Mathias.”

And he passed proudly before the clerk, who,
being interrupted in his work, ventured to say to
the offlcer, —

But, Captain van Deken, the proc^s-verbal is not
yet finished.”

‘‘It is hardly worth while to finish it,” rejoined
the officer.

“ Very well,” replied the clerk, philosophically,
putting away his paper and pen in a greasy and well-
worn writing-case.

‘‘ It was written,” thought poor Cornelius, ” that
I should not in this world give my name either to a
child, a flower, or a book, — the three things of which
God requires one at least, we are told, of every well-
organized individual whom He deigns to allow to
rejoice in the possession of a soul and in the full
exercise of mental and bodily faculties.”

He followed the officer with a resolute heart and
head erect.

Cornelius counted the steps which led to the
Esplanade, regretting that he had not asked the
guard how many there -were, for the man in his offi-
cious complaisance would not have failed to tell him.

What the long-suffering fellow principally dreaded
during this short journey — which he looked upon as
the immediate precursor of the end of his life’s
journey — was that he should see Gryphus and not
Rosa. What savage satisfaction would glisten in
the eyes of the father, and what sorrow dim those
of the daughter I

How Gryphus would glory in his punishment !
Punishment? Rather, savage vengeance for an

Van Baerle Settles Accounts 225

eminently righteous deed, which Cornelius had the
satisfaction of having performed as a bounden duty.

But Rosa, poor girl I must he die without a glimpse
of her, without an opportunity to give her one last
kiss, or even to say one last word of farewell?

And worst of all, must he die without any intelli-
gence of the black tulip, and regain his consciousness
in heaven with no idea in what direction he should
look to find it ?

In truth to restrain his tears at such a crisis the
poor wretches heart must have been encased in more
of the aes triplex — the triple brass — than Horace
bestows upon the sailor who first visited the terrify-
ing Acroceraunian shoals.

In vain did Cornelius look to the right and to the
left ; he saw no sign either of Rosa or Gryphus.

On the whole, he was glad that it was so.

When he reached the Esplanade, he looked
courageously and unflinchingly about him for the
guards who were to be his executioners, and saw a
dozen or more soldiers standing talking together.

But they were standing and talking, not drawn up
in line, and without arms ; in fact they were whisper-
ing and joking rather than conversing, — a line of
conduct which seemed to Cornelius little consistent
with the serious mien commonly assumed on such
occasions.

Suddenly Gryphus appeared at the doorway of his
lodge, hobbling and tottering along, supported by a
crutch. He had concentrated all the flame that his
cat-like grey eyes could command in one last look
of bitter hatred. He then began to pour forth such
a torrent of foul abuse upon Cornelius that the
latter, addressing the ojSicer, said, —

“ Mynheer, I do not think it very becoming to
allow me to be thus insulted by this man, especially
at a moment like this.

“But think,’’ said the officer, laughing; it is
quite natural that this worthy fellow should bear you
a grudge, for you seem to have given him a good
drubbing.”

Q

226 The Black Tulip

But only in self-defence, Mynheer/’

“ Pshaw!” said the captain, shrugging his shoul-
ders like a true philosopher, “let him talk; what
does it matter to you now?”

The cold sweat stood on the brow of Cornelius
at this answer, which he looked upon as rather brutal
sarcasm, especially from an officer whom he under-
stood to be attached to the person of the Prince.

The unfortunate wretch then felt that he had no
more hope and no more friends, and resigned him-
self to his fate.

“ God’s will be done,” he muttered, bowing his
head. “ They did much worse to Christ, and inno-
cent as I am, I cannot compare myself to him. Christ
would have let his jailer beat him to his heart’s
content, and would not have struck back. ’ ’

Then turning toward the officer, who seemed to
have no objection to waiting until he had finished
his meditations, he asked, —

“ Well, Mynheer, where am I to go?”

The officer pointed to a carriage drawn by four
horses, — which reminded him very strongly of that
which, under similar circumstances, had before
attracted his attention at the Buytenhof.

“ Enter this carriage,” said the officer.

“Ah,” muttered Cornelius to himself, “it seems
that I am not considered worthy of the honours of
the Esplanade.”

lie uttered these words loud enough for the his-
torical guard, who seemed to have attached himself
to his person, to overhear him.

He doubtless thought it his duty to give Cornelius
some new information; for approaching the door of
the carriage while the officer, with one foot on the
step, was giving his orders, he whispered to Van
Baerle, —

“ Condemned prisoners have sometimes been taken
to their own town, and, to make their example more
impressive and terrible, have undergone the penalty
of the law before the door of their own house. It’s
all according to circumstances.”

Punishment awaiting Van Baerle 227

Cornelius thanked him with a gesture.

‘‘ Well, upon my word/’ he thought, here is a
fellow who never loses an opportunity to say a word
of comfort! Faith, my friend, I’m very much
obliged to you. Farewell. ”

The carriage drove away.

Ah, you villain, you brigand !” roared Gryphus,
clenching his fists at the victim, who was escaping
from his clutches. *‘To think of his clearing out
without having given me back my ck; :p»i't:'r !”

‘‘If they take me to Dort, ” thought Cornelius,
“ I shall see as I pass my house whether my poor
beds have been all torn to pieces, ’ ’

CHAPTER XXX

WHEREIN THE READER BEGINS TO HAVE AN INKLING
OF THE KIND OF PUNISHMENT THAT WAS AWAITING
CORNELIUS VAN BAERLE

The carriage rolled on during the whole day ; it left
Dort on the left hand, passed through Rotterdam,
and reached Delft. By five o’clock in the evening
they had made at least twenty leagues.

Cornelius addressed some questions to the officer,
who was at the same time his guard and his com-
panion; but cautious as were his inquiries, he had
the disappointment of receiving no answer.

Cornelius regretted that he had no longer by his
side the obliging guard, who would talk without
being begged to do so.

He would undoubtedly have had as pleasant details
and as exact explanations to offer him concerning the
remarkable character of his third adventure as he
had done concerning the probabilities of his fate at
its two earlier stages.

The travellers passed the night in the carriage.
On the following morning at dawn Cornelius found
himself beyond Leyden, having the North Sea on his
left, and Harlem Lake on his right.

228 The Black Tulip

Three hours later he entered Harlem.

Cornelius was not aware of what had taken place
at Harlem, and we shall leave him in ignorance of it
until the course of events enlightens him.

But we cannot treat the reader in the same way ; for
he has a right to know all about it, even before our
hero.

We have seen that Rosa and the tulip, like two
orphan sisters, had been left by Prince William of
Orange at the house of the President van Systens.

Rosa did not hear again from the Stadtholder until
the evening of the day on which she had seen him
face to face.

Toward evening an officer called at Van Systens ’s
house. He came from his ' with a request
for Rosa to appear at the Town Mail.

There, in the large council room in which she was
ushered, she found the Prince writing.

He was alone, with a large Frisian greyhound at
his feet, who gazed earnestly at him, as if the faith-
ful animal would have tried to accomplish what no
man could do, — read his master’s mind.

William continued his writing for a moment ; then
raising his eyes, and seeing Rosa standing near the
door, he said, without laying down his pen, —

Come here, my child.”

Rosa advanced a few steps toward the table.

I have come, your Highness,” said she, stopping
at a short distance from him.

<< Very well,” returned the Prince; ‘‘be seated.”

Rosa obeyed, for the Prince had his eye upon her ;
but he had scarcely turned them again to his paper
when she bashfully retired.

The Prince finished his letter.

During this time the greyhound had gone up to
Rosa, made a careful survey of her, and begun to
make friendly overtures.

“ Ah,” said William to his dog, “it’s easy to see
that she is a countrywoman of yours, and that you
recognize her.”

Then turning toward Rosa, and fixing on her his

Pun’shiv.ent awaiting Van Baerle 229

scrutinizing and at the same time impenetrable
glance, he said, —

“ Now, my child.”

^ The Prince was scarcely twenty-three, and Rosa
eighteen or twenty. He might, perhaps, better have
said my sister.”

“ My child,” he said, with that strangely com-
manding tone which chilled all those who approached
him, we are alone, and may speak freely.”

Rosa began to tremble in every limb ; and yet there
was nothing but kindness in the expression of the
Prince’s face.

“ Your Highness,” she stammered.

‘‘You have a father at Loewestein?”

“ Yes, your Highness.”

” You do not love him?”

“ I do not, — at least not as a daughter ought to
do, your Plighness.”

“ It is not right not to love one’s father, but it is
right not to tell a falsehood to your Prince.”

Rosa lowered her eyes.

“ Why do you not love your father?”

“ He is a wicked man.”

“ In what way does he show his wickedness?”

” He ill-treats the prisoners.”

” All of them?”

“All.”

“ But do you not complain of his ill-treating some
one in particular?”

“ My father is particularly severe upon Mynheer
van Baerle, who ”

“ Who is your lover.”

Rosa started back a step.

“ Whom I love, your Highness,” she answered
proudly.

“ Since when?” asked the Prince.

“ Since the day when I first saw him,”

“ And when was that?”

“ The day after that on which the Grand Pension^
ary John and his brother Cornelius met with such an
awful death.”

230 The Black Tulip

The Prince compressed his lips and knit his browj
and his eyelids drooped so as to hide his eyes for
an instant. After a momentary silence, he resumed
the conversation.

‘‘ But what is the object of loving a man who is
doomed to live and die in prison?”

“ My object, your Highness, if he must live and
die in prison, is to do my best to make his life
pleasant, and prepare him to meet death with resigna-
tion.”

And would you accept the lot of being the wife
of a prisoner?”

“ As the wife of Mynheer van Baerle, I should,
under any circumstances, be the proudest and hap-
piest woman in the world; but ”

“But what?”

“ I dare not say, your Highness.”

“ There is something like hope in your tone — what
do you hope!”

She raised her beautiful eyes to William face, —
her clear, honest eyes, endowed with such keen
penetration that they went straight to the bottom of
his heart in search of the clemency which lay slumber-
ing there, in a slumber which was almost death.

“ Ah, I understand.”

Rosa, with a smile, clasped her hands.

“ You hope in me?” said the Prince.

“ Yes, your Highness.”

“ Hum !”

The Prince sealed the letter which he had just
written, and summoned one of his officers.

“ Mynheer van Deken,” said he, carry this des-
patch to Loewestein; you will read the orders which
I give to the governor, and execute them as far as
they concern you.”

The officer bowed, and a few minutes afterwards
the gallop of a horse was heard resounding in the
vaulted archway.

“ My child,” continued the Prince, ‘‘ the feast of
the tulip will be on Sunday, and Sunday will be the
day after to-morrow. Make yourself fine with these

Harlem 231

five hundred florins, for I intend that day to be a

great holiday for you.

How does your Highness wish me to be
dressed faltered Rosa.

‘‘Wear the costume of a Frisian bride, ” ^aid
William, “ it will become you very well indeed.*’

CHAPTER XXXI

HARLEM

Harlem, where we conducted the gentle reader
with Rosa three days ago, and whither we now ask
him to^ accompany us once more in the prisoner’s
wake, is a charming town, which prides itself, and
justly, upon being one of the most umbrageous in
all Holland.

While other towns base their self-esteem upon the
of their arsenals or dock-yards, or the
splendour of their shops and bazaars, Harlem rested
all her claim to glory upon her manifest supremacy
over all the other towns in the provinces in the
matter of branching elms, stately poplars, and above
all in the number and beauty of her shaded walks,
over which ^ the oak, the linden, and the chestnut
mingled their foliage in graceful arches.

Harlem — as her neighbour Leyden, and Amster-
dam, her queen, became, the former a town of scien-
tific eminence, and the other a metropolis of com-
merce, — Harlem chose to become an agricultural, or
more strictly speaking, a horticultural town.

In truth, being enclosed as she was, very airy, and
exposed to the heat of the sun, she offered to
gardeners such guarantees of success as no other
place could do, with their sea-breezes, or their scorch-
ing heat.

Thus all the tranquil spirits who loved the soil and
its products had gradually assembled at Harlem, just
as all the restless, uneasy souls, who were inspired

232 The Black Tulip

with the taste for travel and love of business, had
settled at Rotterdam or Amsterdam, and all the
politicians and worldly self-seekers fiocked to the
Hague.

We have remarked that Leyden had been over-
run by the scholars.

Thus Harlem was given over to mild and peaceful
pursuits, — to music and painting, orchards and
boulevards, woods and parks.

Harlem went mad over flowers, and tulips came in
for their share of adoration.

Harlem offered prizes in honour of tulips ; and this
leads us as naturally as possible to speak of that
festival which the town proposed to hold on the 15th
of May, 1673, in honour of the great black tulip,
spotless and perfect, which was to win one hundred
thousand florins for its discoverer.

Harlem, having exhibited its special pet, having
made manifest its taste for flowers in general and
tulips' in particular, at a time when war and sedition
filled men’s minds; Harlem, having enjoyed^ the
extraordinary pleasure of seeing the very beau ideal
of tulips in bloom, — Harlem, the lovely little town,
full of trees and of sunshine, of shade and light, had
determined to make of the ceremony of conferring
the prize a file which should live for ever in the
memory of mankind.

And there was so much the more reason in her
determination, because Holland is the home of files ;
never did sluggish natures manifest more eager
energy of the singing and dancing sort than those of
the good republicans of the Seven Provinces when
amusement was the order of the day.

Look at the pictures of the two Teniers.

It is certain that sluggish folk are of all men the
most earnest in tiring themselves, not when they are
at work, but at play.

Thus Harlem was given over to rejoicing thrice,
for a threefold celebration was to take place : the
black tulip had been produced; Prince William of
Orange had promised to be present at the ceremony

Harlem 233

like the true Dutchman he was ; and thirdly, it was
a point of honour with the States to show to the
French at the conclusion of so disastrous a war as
that of 1672 that the flooring of the Batavian Republic
was solid enough for its people to dance upon, with
the accompaniment of the cannon of their fleets.

The Horticultural Society of Harlem had shown
itself worthy of its fame by giving a hundred thou-
sand florins for a tulip-bulb. The town, not to be
outdone, voted a like sum, which was placed in the
hands of its leading citizens to celebrate worthily the
awarding of the prize.

Thus there was on the Sunday fixed for this cere-
mony such earnestness apparent among the people,
and such enthusiasm among the townsfolk, that even
a quizzical Frenchman, who laughs at everything at
all times, could not have helped admiring the char-
acter of those honest Hollanders, who were equally
ready to spend their money for the construction of a
man-of-war — that is to say, to maintain the national
honour — as to offer a reward for the discovery of a
new flower, destined to bloom for one day, and to
serve during that day to divert the ladies, the
scholars, and the curiosity-seekers.

At the head of the municipal authorities and of the
Horticultural Committee shone Mynheer van Systens,
dressed in his richest clothes.

The worthy man had done his best to resemble his
favourite flower in the sombre and chaste elegance
of his garments ; and we are bound to record, to his
honour, that he had perfectly succeeded in his object.

Jet black velvet and violet silk, with linen of
dazzling whiteness, composed the festival costume of
the president, who marched at the head of his com-
mittee carrying an enormous nosegay, like that
which, a hundred and twenty-one years later. Mon-
sieur de Robespierre displayed at the festival of
“The Supreme Being.'*

But the worthy president, instead of the heart
swollen with hatred and ambitious vindictiveness of
the French Tribune, carried in his bosom a heart

234 *rhe Black Tulip

as innocent as the flowers which he held in his
hand.

Behind the committee, who were bedecked with g*ay
colours like a flowering meadow, and exhaled the
sweet perfumes of the t-,:.- marched the
learned societies of the town, the the

military, the nobles, and the peasants.

The people, even among the respected republicans
of the Seven Provinces, had no place assigned to
them in the procession. They formed a living hedge
along the line of march.

That is the best position of all to see and to learn.

It is the place for the multitude, who philosophically
wait until the triumphal pageants have passed that
they may the better judge what they should say about
them, and sometimes what they ought to do as well.

This time, however, there was no question either
of the triumph of Pompey or of Caesar ; nor were they
celebrating the defeat of Mithridates, or the con-
quest of Gaul. The procession was as placid as the
passing of a flock of lambs on the earth, and as
inoffensive as the flight of birds through the air.

Plarlem had no triumphant conquerors except its
gardeners. In its worship of flowers, Harlem idolized
the florist.

In the centre of this peaceful, sweet-smelling
cortege the black tulip was seen, borne on a litter,
which was covered with white velvet fringed with
gold.

Four men carried the handles of the litter, and
were from time to time relieved by other fresh relays,
— just as the bearers of Mother Cybele used to take
turn and turn about at Rome in the days of old,
when she was brought from Etruria to the Eternal
City, amid the blare of trumpets and the adoration
of a whole nation.

This public display of the tulip was an act of
homage rendered by a whole nation, uncultured and
unrefined, to the refinement and culture of its illustri-
ous and devout leaders, whose blood it had shed
upon the foul pavement of the Buytenhof, reserving

Harlem 235

the right at a future day to inscribe the names of
its victims upon the fairest stone of the Dutch
Pantheon.

It was arranged that the Prince Stadtholder should
himself award the prize of a hundred thousand
florins, — a matter in which everybody was interested,
— and that in connection with that duty he would
perhaps make a speech, the latter consideration being
of especial interest to his particular friends and his
particular enemies.

For in the most insignificant speeches of men of
political prominence their friends and their opponents
always try to detect, and hence think they can in-
terpret, something of their real thoughts.

As if your true politician's hat were not always a
bushel under which he hides his light !

At last the great and long-expected day — May 15,
T6p — had arrived; and all Harlem, reinforced by her
neighbours, was congregated along the beautiful
tree-lined streets, determined on this occasion not to
waste its applause upon military heroes, or those
who had won notable victories in scientific fields, but
to reserve their approbation for those who had con-
quered Nature, and had forced the inexhaustible
mother to be delivered of what had theretofore been
regarded as impossible of production, — a wholly
black tulip.

Nothing, however, is less to be relied upon than
the determination of a crowd of people not to applaud
this or that thing. When a whole town is in an
applauding mood it is no more possible to tell where
it will stop than when they are in the humour for
hissing.

They began by cheering Van Systens and his bou-
quet; they cheered the corporations, and even vented
some of their superfluous energy upon themselves;
and lastly, and with good reason, they applauded the
excellent music which was furnished in profusion at
every halt.

All eyes were looking eagerly for the heroine of
the festival, — the black tulip, that is to say, — and for

236 The Black Tulip

its hero in the person of the individual who had grown
it.

If this hero should make his appearance after the
speech we have seen worthy Van Systens at work on
so conscientiously, he would be sure- to^ produce as
much of a sensation as the Stadtholder himself.

But for us the interest of the day’s proceedings is
centred neither in the learned discourse of our friend
Van Systens, however eloquent it might be; nor in
the young aristocrats, clad in their Sunday clothes,
and crunching their heavy cakes; nor in the poor
young peasants, nibbling smoked eels as if they were
slicks of vanilla candy : neither is our interest in the
lovely Dutch girls, with ruddy cheeks and white
bosoms; nor in the fat dumpy mynheers, who had
never left their homes before; nor in the sallow, thin
travellers from Ceylon or Java; nor in the thirsty
crowds, who quenched their thirst with pickled
cucumbers, — no, so far as we are concerned, the real
interest of the situation, the engrossing, dramatic
interest, is to be found in none of these.

Our interest is in a beaming, to be

espied amid the members of the ‘ ■ . . , ' ' Com-

mittee ; in the individual with a flower in his belt,
combed and brushed, and all clad in scarlet, — a
colour which makes his black hair and yellow skin
stand out in startling prominence.

This beaming, triumphant personage, intoxicated
with pride, the hero of the day, destined to the extra-
ordinary honour of overshadowing the discourse of
Van Systens and the Stadtholder ^s presence, is no
other than Isaac Boxtel, who sees before his eyes,
on the right hand, the black tulip, his pretended
child, upon a velvet cushion; and at his left, in the
huge purse, the one hundred thousand florins, in
shining, tinkling gold, — and who has almost become
cross-eyed in his determination not to lose sight of
either for an instant.

From time to time Boxtel quickened his step to
rub elbows for a moment with Van Systens, He
borrowed a little importance from everybody to make

Harlem 237

a sort of fictitious importance for himself, as he had
stolen Rosa’s tulip to effect his own gflory, and make
his fortune thereby.

In another quarter of an hour the Prince will arrive,
and the last stop for rest will be made. The tulip
being placed upon its throne, the Prince, yielding
precedence to this rival in the public adoration, will
take a magnificently illuminated parchment, upon
which the name of the grower is inscribed, and in a
loud clear voice will proclaim that he has discovered a
marvel; that Holland, by BoxtePs instrumentality,
has forced Nature to produce a black flower, and that
this flower will henceforth be called “ Tulipa Nigra
Boxtellea. ”

From time to time, however, Boxtel took his eyes
a moment from the tulip and the purse, and scanned
the crowd fearfully ; for of all things he most dreaded
to see among the people was Rosa’s sweet face.

We can understand that that would have been a
spectre which would have spoiled the festivities for
him as completely as Banquo’s ghost disturbed the
repose of Macbeth.

And yet let us hasten to say that this wretch, who
had scaled a wall that was not his, who had entered
his no:i>hbour’s house by a window, and who had
violated Rosa’s chamber by a false key, — this villain
who had filched a man’s glory and a maiden’s
. by no means considered himself a

thief.

He had watched the tulip so intently, had followed
it so eagerly from Cornelius’s drawer in his drying-
room to the scaffold on the Buytenhof, and thence
to the fortress of Loewestein ; he had so zealously
observed its birth and growth in Rosa’s window, and
had so many times heated the air around it with his
breath, that he felt as if no one were so much its
discoverer as he, and that whoever now took the
black tulip from him must steal it.

But he did not see Rosa. Thus Boxtel’s delight
was without alloy. The procession stopped in the
centre of a circle formed by superb trees, which were

238 The Black Tulip

decorated with wreaths and inscriptions; it stopped
amid joyous music; and the fair damsels of Harlem
came forward to escort the tulip to the raised seat
which it was to occupy on the platform by the side
of the gilded chair of his Highness the Stadtholder.

And the haughty tulip, elevated on its pedestal,
soon overlooked the assembled crowd of people, who
clapped their hands and woke the echoes of Harlem
vith their tremendous cheers.

CHAPTER XXXII

A LAST REQUEST

At this solemn moment, and while the cheers were
still at their loudest, a carriage was driving along the
road which skirted the wood, making but slow pro-
gress on account of the swarms of children who
were crowded out from under the trees into the road
by the selfish eagerness of the men and women.

This carriage, covered with dust, and creaking on
its axles, as if wearied by its long journey, contained
the unfortunate Van Baerle, who was just beginning
to get a glimpse through the open window of the
scene which we have tried — with poor success, no
doubt — to present to the eyes of the reader.

The crowd and the noise and the display of artificial
and natural magnificence were as dazzling to the
prisoner as a ray of light coming suddenly into his
dungeon.

Notwithstanding the little readiness which his com-
panion had shown in answering his questions con-
cerning his fate, he ventured once more to ask the
meaning of all this bustle, which at first sight seemed
to be utterly disconnected with his own affairs.

“What is all this, pray. Mynheer Lieutenant?’^
he asked of his conductor.

“ As you may see, sir,” replied the officer, “ it is a

A Last Request 239

** Ah, a fiteV* said Cornelius, in the sad tone of
indifference of a man to whom earthly joy has long
been a stranger.

Then, after a moment’s silence, during which the
carriage had proceeded a few yards, he asked once
more, —

“ Is it the fHe of the patron saint of Harlem? For
I see quantities of flowers.”

” It is, indeed, an occasion in which flowers play a
principal part.”

” Oh, what sweet odours! oh, what beautiful
colours r* cried Cornelius.

Stop, so that the gentleman may see,” said the
officer, acting upon one of those compassionate im-
pulses which are so often seen among military men,
to the soldier who was acting as postilion.

Oh, thank you. Mynheer, for your kindness,”
replied Van Baerle, in a melancholy tone; ” but it iS|,
a very painful pleasure to me to see others enjoying
themselves thus ; so spare me, I pray. ’ ’

“ As you please. Drive on ! I ordered the driver
to stop because you asked me the question, as well
as because you are said to love flowers, and
especially those to whom this day’s celebration is
devoted.”

And what flowers are those?”

“ The tulips.”

” The tulips !” cried Van Baerle. Is to-day the
feast of tulips?”

“Yes, Mynheer; but as this spectacle is unpleas-
ant to you, let us drive on.”

The officer was about to give the order to proceed ;
but Cornelius stopped him, a painful thought having
struck him.

” Mynheer,” he asked with a faltering voice, ** is
it to-day that the prize is to be awarded?”

“ The prize for the black tulip? Yes.”

Cornelius’s cheek flushed, his whole frame
trembled, and the perspiration stood on his brow.

Alas !” he said, ” all these good people will be
as unfortunate as myself; for they will not see the

240 The Black Tulip

solemnity which they have come to witness, — or at
least they will see it incompletely.”

‘‘ What do you mean?”

‘‘I mean,” replied Cornelius, throwing himself
back in the carriage, “ that the black tulip will not
be discovered except by one whom I know.’’

In this case,” said the officer, ‘‘ the person whom
you know has discovered it; for the thing at which
the whole of Harlem is looking at this moment is
the very flower which you consider undiscoverable. ”

‘‘The black tulip!” cried Van Baerle, thrusting
half his body out of the carriage- window. “ Where
is it? where is it?”

“ Down there, on the throne, — donT you see?”

“ Yes ; I see it now.”

” Well,” said the officer, ‘‘ we must be off now.”

“ Oh, in pity’s name, in mercy’s name. Mynheer,’
said Van Baerle, “don’t take me away! Let me
look once more ! Can it be that what I see down
there is the black tulip, — quite black? Is it possible?
Oh, Mynheer, have you seen it? It must have spots
of colour; it must be imperfect; perhaps it is only
dyed black. Oh, if I were only there I could soon
tell ! Let me alight, let me see it closer, I beg of
you I”

“ Are you mad? How can I do it?”

“ I implore you !”

“ But you forget that you are a prisoner.”

“It is true I am a prisoner ; but I am a man of
honour ; and upon my honour I will make no attempt
to escape. Only let me see the flower!’’

“ But my orders. Mynheer?”

And again the officer made the driver a sign to
proceed.

Cornelius stopped him once more.

“ Oh, be forbearing, be generous ! My whole life
depends upon your pity, — my poor life, alas ! which
has probably but a short time longer to run. Ah,
you don’t know what I suffer; you don’t know the
struggle going on in my heart and in my brain I For,
after all,” Cornelius cried in despair, “ if this were

A Last Request 241

to prove to be my tulip ; if it were the one which was
stolen from Rosa — Oh, Mynheer, just consider what
it is to have discovered the black tulip, to have seen
it for an instant only, — to have seen that it was per-
fect, a consummate masterpiece of art and nature in
collaboration, — and then to lose it, — ^to lose it for
ever and ever ! Oh, I must alight, Mynheer ! I must
see the flower ! You may kill me afterwards if you
like, but I will see it, I must see it !”

“ Be quiet, wretched man, and come back into
the carriage at once, for the escort of his Highness
the Stadtholder is just passing ; and if the Prince
observed any disturbance or heard any noise, it
would be all over with me as well as with you. ’ ^

Van Baerle, more afraid for his companion than
for himself, threw himself back into the carriage;
but he could only keep quiet for half a minute, and
the first twenty horsemen had scarcely passed when
he again leaned out of the carriage-window, ges-
ticulating imploringly toward the Stadtholder as he
rode by.

William, impassive and retiring as usual, was on
his way to the square to fulfil his duty as chairman.
He held in his hand the roll of parchment, which on
this festive day served him for a marshaPs biton.

Seeing the man gesticulating and imploring, and
perhaps also recognizing the officer who accompanied
him, his Highness ordered his carriage to stop.

In a twinkling his fiery horses, trembling on their
powerful haunches, had come to a stand not six yards
from the carriage in which Van Baerle was con-
fined.

What is this?*^ the Prince asked the officer, who
at the first order of the Stadtholder had jumped out
of the carriage, and was respectfully approaching
him.

“ Monseigneur,” he cried, ‘‘ this is the prisoner
of State whom I went to seek at Loewestein, and
whom I have brought to Harlem as your Highness
desired.”

What does he want?”

242 The Black Tulip

'' He most earnestly entreats permission to stop
here for a moment/’

‘‘To see the black tulip, your Highness,” said
Van Baerle, clasping his hands “ and when I have
seen it, when I know what I desire to know, I am
quite ready to die, if die I must; but with my dying
breath I will bless >our compassionate heart, which
interposes between eternity and myself, and allows
my achievement to attain a glorious reward.”

It was indeed a curious spectacle to see these two
men at the windows of their respective carriages,
surrounded by their guards, — one all-powerful, the
other a wretched prisoner; the one about to mount
his throne, the other believing himself to be on his
way to mount his scaffold.

William looked coldly upon Cornelius as he listened
to his vehement entreaty.

Then addressing the officer, he said, —

“ Is this person the mutinous prisoner who
attempted to kill his jailer at Loewestein?”

Cornelius heaved a sigh, and hung his head. His
good-tempered, honest face turned pale and red at
the same instant. These words of the omnipotent,
omniscient prince, his superhuman infallibility, which
through some secret source hidden from the rest of
mankind had already been apprised of his crime,
seemed to him not only to make his doom more cer-
tain, but to presage a refusal of his last request.

He did not try to struggle, or to defend himself ;
and he presented to the Prince an affecting spectacle
of ingenuous despair, — a spectacle which was fully
understood and felt by the great mind and the great
heart of him who observed it

“Allow the prisoner to alight,” continued the
Stadtholder, “ and let him see the black tulip; it is
well worth being seen at least once- ’ ’

‘‘Thanks, your Highness, thank you,” said Cor-
nelius, nearly overcome with joy, and hardly able
to stand erect on the carriage-step ; ‘ * oh, your High-
ness ”

He could say no more; and without the friendly

Conclusion 243

arm of the ofiScer upon which he leaned, poor Cor-
nelius would have thanked his Highness at full
length in the dust.

Having granted this permission, the Prince pro-
ceeded on his way among the trees amid the most
enthusiastic acclamations.

He soon arrived at the platform prepared for him,
and the thunder of cannon shook the air.

CHAPTER XXXIII

CONCLUSION

Van Baerle, led by four guards, who pushed their
way through the crowd, made his way from the side
toward the black tulip, which his eyes devoured more
and more eagerly, as he approached.

He saw it at last, — that rare flower which was
fated, under unknown conditions of heat and cold,
light and shadow, to appear for a day, only to dis-
appear thenceforth for ever ; that unique flower, which
he was to see once, and no more. He saw it only
six paces away, and was delighted with its perfec-
tion and gracefulness ; he saw it surrounded by young
and beautiful girls, who formed, as it were, a guard
of honour for this queen of excellence and purity.
And yet the more he ascertained with his own eyes
the perfection of the flower, the more was his heart
torn. He looked all around for some one to whom
he might address only one question; but his eyes
everywhere met strange faces, and the attention of
all was directed toward the throne on which the
Stadtholder had seated himself.

William, upon whom everybody’s eyes were fixed,
rose, cast a tranquil glance over the enthusiastic
crowd, and his keen eye rested by turns on the three
extremities of a triangle, formed opposite to him by
three persons whose interests were very different each
from the other, and in whose hearts very different
emotions were struggling.

244 Black Tulip

At one of the angles, was Boxtel, trembling with
impatience, and quite absorbed in watching the
Prince, the florins, the black tulip, and the crowd.

At another was Cornelius, panting for breath,
dumb, and with no glance or breath or heart or love
for aught save the black tulip, his own dear child.

And at the third, standing on a raised step among
the maidens of Harlem, was a beautiful Frisian girl,
dressed in fine scarlet woollen embroidered with
silver, and covered with a lace veil, which fell in
rich folds from her head-dress of gold-brocade, — in
a word, Rosa, who, almost fainting and with eyes
s. I’.’ g with tears, was leaning on the arm of one
Cl \\ ■■■’;: officers.

The Prince, then seeing that all his audience were
prepared, slowly unfolded the parchment, and in a
calm, clear voice, which, although low, made itself
perfectly heard amid the respectful silence which all
at once fell upon the fifty thousand spectators, and
stayed their very breath on their lips.

You all know,’’ said he, for what purpose you
have come together here to-day.

A prize of one hundred thousand florins has been
promised to him who should grow the black tulip.

“The black tulip — and this marvel of Holland is
now put before you, — the black tulip has been
grown, and fulfils all the conditions required by
the prograp-.mc of the Horticultural Society of
Harlem.

‘ ‘ The history of its production and the name of its
grower will be inscribed in the book of honour of the
town.

^ ‘ Let the person approach to whom the black tulip
belongs.”

As he uttered these words, the Prince, to judge
of the effect they produced, surveyed with his eagle
eye the three angles of the triangle.

He saw Boxtel jump from his elevated post.

He saw Cornelius make an involuntary movement.

Lastly, he saw the officer in whose charge Rosa
was lead or rather push her towards his throne.

Conclusion 245

A cry arose at once on the right and left of the
Prince.

Boxtel, thunderstruck, and Cornelius, in utter
bewilderment, both exclaimed, — *

‘‘ Rosa 1 Rosa ! ”

“ This tulip is yours, is it not, my child?’’ said
the Prince.

“ Yes, your Highness,” stammered Rosa, whose
touching beauty excited a general murmur of
approbation.

“ Oh,” muttered Cornelius, ‘‘ then she lied to me
when she said this flower was stolen from her ! Oh,
that is why she left Loewestein ! Oh, heaven 1 for-
gotten, betrayed by her, — by her whom I believed to
be my truest friend I”

Oh,” sighed Boxtel, I am lost !”

“This tulip,” continued the Prince, “will there-
fore bear the name of its producer, and figure in the
catalogue under the title, ^ Tulipa nigra Rosa Bar-
Isensis,’ because of the name of Van Baerle, which
will henceforth be the married name of this maiden.”

As he spoke, William took Rosa’s hand and placed
it in that of a young man who rushed forward, pale,
giddy, and almost insane with joy, to the foot of the
throne, saluting one after the other, his Prince, his
betrothed, and his God, who from His throne in the
blue vault of heaven looked down with a benignant
smile on the spectacle of two happy hearts.

At the same moment there fell at the feet of
President van Systens another man, struck down by
a very different emotion.

Boxtel, crushed by the failure of his hopes, lay
senseless on the ground.

When they raised him, and felt his pulse and his
heart, he was quite dead.

This incident did not disturb the festivities, ^ as
neither the Prince nor the president seemed to mind
it much.

Cornelius started back in dismay. In the thief , in the
pretended Jacob, he recognized his neighbour Isaac
Boxtel, whom in the innocence of his heart he had
not for one instant suspected of such a base action.

246 The Black Tulip

Then, to the sound of trumpets, the procession
resumed its march without any change in its order,
except that Boxtel was now dead, and that Cornelius
and Rosa were walking triumphantly side by side,
and hand in hand.

When they arrived at the town hall, the Prince,
pointing to the purse with the hundred thousand
florins, said to Cornelius, —

“ It is difficult to say by whom this money has been
won, by you or by Rosa; for although you dis-
covered the black tulip, she nursed it, and brought
it into flower. It would, therefore, be unjust to
consider it as her dowry.

** Besides, it is the gift of the town of Harlem to
the tulip.’'

Cornelius waited patiently for the Prince’s conclu-
sion. The latter resumed, —

“ I give Rosa the sum of a hundred thousand
florins, which she has fairly earned, and which she
can offer to you. They are the reward of her love,
her courage, and her honesty.

As to you, Mynheer, — ^thanks to Rosa again,
who has furnished the proofs of your innocence — ”
And, as he spoke, the Prince handed to Cornelius the
famous fly-leaf of the Bible, on which was written the
letter of Cornelius de Witt, and in which the third
bulb had been wrapped — as to you, it has come to
light that you were imprisoned for a crime which you
did not commit. This means that you are not only
free, but that your property will be restored to you,
as the property of an innocent man cannot be con-
fiscated. Cornelius van Baerle, you are the godsOn
of Cornelius de Witt, and the friend of his brother
John. Remain worthy of the name which one of
them bestowed upon you at the baptismal font, and
of the friendship with which the other honoured you.
Cherish the memory of the signal virtues of both, —
for the De Witts, wrongly judged, and wrongly
punished in a moment of popular error, were two
great citizens, of whom Holland is now proud.”

The Prince, after these last words, which, con-
trary to his custom, he pronounced with a voice full

Conclusion 247

of emotion, gave his hands to the lovers to kiss, while

they knelt before him.

Then, with a sigh, he said, —

Alas ! you are very happy, who, dreaming, it
may be, of the true glory of Holland and her true
happiness, do not attempt to conquer aught for her
except new colours for tulips.”

And with a hasty glance toward France, as if he
saw new clouds gathering there, he entered his car-
riage and drove oif.

Cornelius started on the same day for Dort with
Rosa, who took care that her father should be in-
formed of all that had taken place by the lips of old
Zug, who was sent on a special embassy to the old
fellow.

Those who have fathomed Gryphus’s character
from our description of it will understand that it was
very hard for him to be reconciled to his son-in-law.
He had upon his mind the blows he had received
from the cudgel; he had counted them up by the
marks that remained, — they numbered forty-one, he
said; but at last, in order, as he declared, not to be
less generous than his Highness the Stadtholder, he
consented to make his peace.

Appointed keeper of tulips, after having been
keeper of men, he made the roughest keeper
of flowers to be met in Flanders.

It was indeed a sight to see him watching the
obnoxious moths and butterflies, killing slugs, and
driving away the hungry bees.

As he had heard BoxteFs story, and was furious
at having been the dupe of the pretended Jacob, he
destroyed the observatory formerly built by the
envious neighbour behind the sycamore ; for Boxtel's
estate being sold at auction was merged with the
other flower-beds belonging to Cornelius, who
surrounded the whole with a wall to defy all the
telescopes of Dort.

Rosa, as she grew more beautiful, also increased
her store of learning ; and after two years of married

248 The Black Tulip

life could read and write so well that she was
able to undertake by herself the education of two
beautiful children which she bore in May, 1674 and
1675, like tulips, and which gave her much less
trouble than the famous flower to which she owed
them.

As a matter of course, as one was a boy and the
other a girl, the former received the name of Cor-
nelius, while the other was called Rosa.

Van Baerle remained faithfully attached to Rosa
and to his tulips. The whole of his life was devoted
to the happiness of his wife and the culture of flowers,
in the latter of which occupations he was so success-
ful that he introduced a great number of varieties,
which may be found in ' 1 *- . : ■* i *■ ' of Holland.

The two principal ornaments of his^ palour were
the two leaves from Cornelius de Witt*s Bible in
large gold frames. Upon one the reader will
remember his godfather had written him to burn the
Marquis de Louvois’s letters.

Upon the other he had written his will, bequeath-
ing the black-tulip bulb to Rosa on condition that
with the hundred thousand florins as her dowry, she
should marry some handsome young fellow of some
twenty-six or twenty-eight years who loved her, and
whom she loved.

The condition was fulfilled to the letter, although
Cornelius did not die, — and in fact just because he
did not.

Finally, to frighten away other envious people,
whom Providence might not have leisure to rid him
of as it had of Mynheer Isaac Boxtel, he wrote over
his door the lines which Grotius had, on the day of
his flight, cut on the wall of his prison, —

Sometimes one^s sufferings have been so great
that one need never say, ‘ I am too happy/

THE END

THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCH WORTH, ENGLAND

SSkx.